Seven times Natasha visited the Barton farm, and one time she didn't
by NomDePlume1220
Summary: A series of oneshots exploring how Natasha Romanoff's relationship with Clint Barton and his family helped her to discover the meaning of home and shape the woman who became the quiet soul of the Avengers. Canon-compliant. Endgame spoilers Ch 13 and later (post-Endgame chapters can be read independent of the rest if desired).
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything that you recognize

There are NO SPOILERS in this part. There will be spoilers eventually, but I will post about those. This chapter is safe even if you have not seen Infinity Wars or Endgame.

Enjoy!

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Spring 2009 — Part 1

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The first time was after a mission that had gone badly south, fast.

They had been sent by SHIELD to eliminate the head of a human trafficking ring operating in Azerbaijan, outside of Baku. SHIELD's intel had been limited, but Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff had been briefed on the basics: their target was a man called Novruz Hasanov, a Russian mobster who had made a name for himself in the criminal underworld by kidnapping children in the Caucuses, falsifying new papers, then adopting them out as orphans for hefty fees to desperate couples in the US and Western Europe.

All of their reconnaissance and tracking had led them to an abandoned church outside of the city. Romanoff was to surprise him in the church's social hall, where he appeared to live, and drive him outside into the courtyard. Barton would be nearby perched on the one of the balconies in case Romanoff needed assistance incapacitating him for questioning. They knew from the dossier that he favored firearms, generally had at least two weapons with him at all times, and that he tended to travel alone.

Neither of them could have foreseen the turn of events that sent the mission spinning out of control.

Somebody in his inner circle must have tipped him off to SHIELD's presence in the area, and he had been prepared for them. When Natasha accosted Hasanov, he seemed to have been waiting for her. He had surrounded himself with a dozen of his young victims, putting their bodies between himself and harm. The mission was to capture, not kill; there were other children out there and they needed to know where they were being held, otherwise Natasha would have had no problem putting a bullet between his eyes for exploiting vulnerable orphans. He or one of his cronies must have also done something to jam the signal from their comms because it had been several minutes since she had heard anything from Barton, who was presumably still outside the building per the plan.

Hasanov had snarled as she kept her gun trained on him.

"You won't do it," he taunted in Russian. "One move and we all go up in flames." Natasha kept her face steady, eyes trained on him and the assault rifle in his right hand. She tried to tell the children to run. Whether from fear or not understanding her command in Russian or English, they remained rooted to the spot. The oldest looked no older than 11 or 12, and the girl was holding an infant, face stark white in terror. Some of the younger kids were crying. One boy clutched a toy to his chest, eyes fixed on Natasha.

"You're not going to kill all these kids," she said, taking another step forward. Still nothing from Barton on comms.

"No? And how can you be sure?"

"Because you want to live," she said. "My orders are to capture, not kill. Let the kids go." He adjusted his grip on the gun.

"Come any closer and I will blow us all to hell."

Natasha kept her gaze trained on him and the gun. She ignored him and took two more careful steps forward. Her gun was still trained on him, his was not pointed at anything in particular. He noticed her movement and let out a roar, firing a quick round into the ceiling. Chunks of plaster exploded to dust, debris rained down, and a cacophony of screams and cries erupted from the children.

" … heard shots, Romanoff, what's … status?" Barton must have realized the comms were compromised, and his voice crackled in and out. "Status, Rom … " His voice broke off.

"I said no closer," Hasanov roared, the dim light illuminating the rings around his eyes and the five-o'clock shadow. Natasha could tell his temper had taken a precarious turn. Keeping her gun on him, she stole a glance at the children. For a fleeting moment her eyes met the scared gaze of the older girl.

"Please go," she said to the kids in Russian. Then, signaling to Barton without tipping Hasanov off, she repeated the command again in English. "Take the other children and run out straight out the front door."

She heard her partner mutter "Shit" into his comms at the same time as Hasanov shouted a command to the children in a language Natasha didn't understand but recognized as Turkish. The girl who looked like she wanted to run instead stood rooted to the spot, looking terrified.

Natasha kept her focus on the man for several breaths, gaze unbroken, gun trained on him. She took another step toward Hasanov before her eyes were drawn to a subtle movement his left hand made and the ensuing fraction of a second seemed to last an era. He had turned an object in his left jacket pocket just slightly enough for her to see the top half-centimeter of a dead-man's switch. Natasha aimed a bullet at the Hasanov's forehead and pulled the trigger. She couldn't register why the shot had gone off with such a thunderous roar.

Then the world exploded around her.

Clint had left his perch atop the balcony of a building just across the brick road as soon as he heard Natasha mention that children were present. He jumped from the 3rd story balcony, turned to loose an escape arrow which affixed itself to the underside of the balcony, and swung down on the cord before flinging himself forward onto the cobbled street. He made for his partner's last known position on the west side of the building. All at once, the ground gave an menacing rumble and a large section of the wall ahead exploded outward, flames erupting from the gaping hole and licking up the side of the building. Chunks of rubble spewed across his path.

"Shit!" he exclaimed for the second time, dashing forward for a better look, eyes scanning what he could see inside of the building through the missing chunk of wall. He didn't call out to her from the street, which would risk their cover, but searched for any sign of his Natasha or other life from within the building. He could taste the acrid smoke as he drew nearer. Acting quickly, he poured the contents of his canteen down the front of his shirt before yanking the wet cloth up to cover his nose and mouth. The flames roared higher and an ominous creaking noise sounded above him.

The building was going to come down.

Oh, God.

He squinted again through the gaping hole in the side of the building, his eye movements becoming frantic now. Through the settling dust, he caught a glimpse of her boot and, not far away, the curve of her outstretched hand still clutching her gun. He glanced around the building and saw no immediate signs of impending collapse. Clint hurtled over the remaining brick and into the building.

"Romanoff," he said with urgency as he approached. "Romanoff!" She had smaller pieces of rubble scattered over her body. A large piece of what looked like ceiling tile and several pieces of crumbled brick obscured her face from view. Clint shifted it and noted a large scrape over her forehead and a sizeable bruise forming but no other signs of damage. A length of rebar, large chunks of concrete still affixed to the sides, pinned her hips to the floor. He managed to free her with a grunt of effort and crouched by her head, relieved to feel a pulse thrumming at her neck. A sweeping glance into the rubble and debris did not reveal any further movement or hint of the children, the only noise perceptible was the roaring fire and crackling, creaking beams of the building groaning under the stress of the fire. There was no sign in the rubble of any other victims.

He positioned himself behind Natasha's head and leaned forward to grasp her jacket at the shoulders, trying his best to keep her neck stabilized with his forearms. He managed to drag her out of the building, kicking rubble out of the way as they went. He did not stop until he spotted a small and unlit alley a hundred yards from the church hall and dragged his partner in, his own lungs burning from the smoke and the effort.

They needed to get out of here before people started showing up. Suddenly, she started coughing and Clint exhaled with relief. She started to sit up but winced. He placed an arm behind her shoulderblades and helped.

"Hey, your neck ok?" he asked.

"I think so."

"Good, 'cause we've got to move," he said. He pulled her up and she leaned heavily on him, one of Clint's hands holding her wrist where her arm draped over his shoulder and the other arm supporting her around the waist.

"Barton" she said weakly, "all those kids, did you find—?" She could feel him shaking his head next to her as he steered them into another deserted alley.

"Didn't see any other bodies, living or otherwise." Natasha gave a cough and sniffed, tasting salt and fire at the back of her throat.

Somehow, they covered the mile and a half to a marina on the coast of the Caspian Sea and Barton had half-carried her onto a speedboat. She struggled for breath and balance and was clinging to consciousness. "Hang in there, Romanoff, we're gonna get out of here," he had said, helping her onto a faux leather plush seat next to him. As she attempted to sit and focus on Barton, who was trying to hot-wire the engine to life, her vision faded to gray and then black.

The boat engine purred to life and Clint steered out of the harbor, slowly and quietly at first, then accelerating when the boat was far enough out into the Caspian Sea that the noise wouldn't be as noticeable from shore. He glanced over at his partner and swore under his breath; she was slumped at an odd angle in her seat. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"Romanoff," he said loudly, his voice urgent, but her head remained lolled to the side. He noticed a trickle of blood from her ear, dark in the dim backlighting of the boat's control panel. "Shit. Natasha!" He shook her shoulder harder, snapped his fingers in front of her face, and still received no response. Clint adjusted his grip on the steering rig, shifted his footing, and felt the cool skin of Natasha's neck, relief sweeping through him when he felt the steady pulse of her carotid. He pushed the speed full throttle and reactivated his SHIELD comms device, where it had been sitting silently during their mission to avoid detection.

"This is Barton, reporting on mission status," he said, eyes trained alternately on the shoreline, the compass, and his partner in turn.

"Barton, we copy. Go ahead with your status report." The voice belonged to Victoria Hand, the level 8 SHIELD Agent who had taken point in coordinating this strike mission from the Triskelion.

"Threats on the ground have been neutralized and we are en route to the rendezvous point, but there were civilian casualties and Romanoff is down. Unconscious but has a pulse and seems to be breathing," Clint said. He kept his voice modulated but his heart was racing as he glanced back at his partner.

"What happened?"

"Got caught in a blast. There was an unexpected suicide bombing, guy had an assault rifle but we didn't know he was strapped with C4. He messed with our comms so I didn't catch the details. Romanoff said something about kids. Looked like Hasanov took down the building and a bunch of innocents along with him." Clint was laying into the accelerator, urging the engine on as fast as it would go.

"Jesus," Hand's voice came across over comms with an audible exhalation. "Alright, hopefully the quinjet is still where you parked it. If you can make it there, the closest safe medical we can guarantee is in Ankara, we'll help clear your airspace and your flight time is just over an hour. Keep us posted."

"Will do, thanks." Clint disconnected the call and looked back over, relieved to find Natasha stirring. She blinked awake in the dim lighting and, ignoring the deafening buzzing in her ears, she tried to sit up.

Almost immediately, the world seemed to be careening off it's axis, swooping around her, and she mustered just enough strength to vomit over the edge of the rail.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Clint started, reaching out a steadying hand. "Take it easy." Natasha spat the remaining sour residue over the edge of the boat and sat back against the seat, panting in spite of herself. She could still taste salt and bile in her throat.

"How long was I out?"

"Maybe 10 minutes," Clint estimated, checking the compass and squinting at the shoreline. He twiddled the steering wheel on the boat. "Passed out just after we go to the boat."

"So we're what, 20 minutes from the quinjet?"

"Yeah, as long as it's where we left it," Clint said. He looked over at her with concern, unable to fully make out her features in the dim lighting. He could see her eyes turned toward him while she sat, still trying to sit upright. She sniffled, and at first he thought she was crying. Something was off, he had never seen her cry with pain. "How are you feeling?"

"I've had better days."

"You let me know if you're going to pass out again, OK? Don't want you falling overboard; that water is cold." He turned to smirk at her, but she was slumped back into her seat, panting, eyes closed. "Romanoff?"

"Mmhmm, got it," she mumbled, still concentrating on staying alert.

Once they arrived on shore, Clint had to half carry her out of the boat and by the time they made it to the jet — mercifully, still where they had stowed it on arrival — she'd stopped to vomit twice more. He may not have finished high school but he knew vomiting after head injury was not a good sign. Once he had helped her into one of the seats and looked at her properly in the light, Clint saw that she had developed faint purple halos around both of her eyes. She was alert enough to fasten her own seatbelt, but sniffled again as he turned toward the pilot seat.

"Are you in pain? I have some Motrin here."

"I'm not crying, my nose is just running," she was quick to clarify. Natasha wiped her nose on her hand. No blood. That was good. "But my head hurts like hell."

"No problem, I'll get you a couple and we'll be off." It was a sign of how bad she felt that she didn't even ask where they were going or try to protest when Clint mentioned getting medical care.

They landed outside of Ankara and changed into civilian clothes as quickly as Natasha could manage before meeting the prearranged SHIELD car in a semi-remote location. They were briefed on their new temporary aliases, a guise that they had been a vacationing couple who'd been involved in a car crash, before being dropped off at the emergency room of the academic hospital in the city.

One look at Natasha's face and the triage nurse had ushered them back immediately. Now that Clint could see her for the first time in good lighting, he saw that the bruising around both of her eyes had become a deep and terrifying shade of violet. He would have teased her about how ridiculous she looked if not for the gnawing feeling at his gut that this was much worse than it seemed.

After the initial hurried shuffling of the doctors, nurses, exams, bloodwork, and scans was complete, one of the doctors pulled Clint aside from his post at her bedside the trauma bay. Her neck was now stabilized in a stiff collar and it was a mark of how miserable she felt that she wasn't struggling against it.

"Your girlfriend has sustained some very serious injuries, she has a basilar skull fracture, which means there's a long break in the bone around the base of her skull. There's a tiny amount of bleeding on the brain and no doubt she sustained a bad concussion. Whatever broke her skull also fractured the cribriform plate, the bone right above the nose, which is allowing her spinal fluid to leak out and why it seemed like her nose was running. This is very serious." The words were clanging around in Clint's brain. He briefly wondered whether the medical translator was making a series of mistakes. "She will need very close observation, specialized IV fluids and monitoring, and consultation with our neurosurgeons."

"Wait," Clint interjected, feeling slow. He glanced across the room and saw Natasha's eyes trained on them. "Can you explain this more slowly to both of us? She's going to want to hear it from you."

Closed head injury causing a small bleed on the brain (subdural bleeding, a slow bleed, they said), enough trauma to fracture her skull across the base and cause enough of a break in the bone above her nose to let her spinal fluid leak out. Clint thought he might be sick thinking about it, and that was before the doctor added broken ribs, smoke inhalation, broken clavicle, multiple bruises and scrapes from the blast. Natasha's expression remained unreadable throughout. She was admitted to intensive care for observation.

The ICU staff did not leave Natasha to rest until around 2:30 AM, when they felt she was stable enough to be by herself. After making a short series of phone calls in the family waiting room, Clint returned to the room to find his partner with her head elevated at an uncomfortable angle, hooked up to various IV fluid drips and monitors. Her face was an unreadable mask as her gaze followed him back into the room. One of the nurses had left a pillow and blanket on the reclining chair for him. He checked that the sliding glass door was closed before settling into the chair at her bedside. Clint was tucking the pillow under his head when he heard her sniffle again. There were fresh tears tracking down her cheeks, reflecting the glow of the medical monitors.

Her emotion took him aback.

"How're you holding up there, Romanoff?" he asked in low tones after glancing toward the doors. She took a long pause before answering.

"All those kids —" Her voice broke. "I wasn't fast enough to save them." Clint rested an outstretched hand on her shoulder, which only seemed to make the tears come faster. He had never seen her cry before, ever, and suspected that the combination of physical and psychological traumas with pain killers had dismantled her emotional barriers.

"Don't do that to yourself," he said softly.

"They were all orphans. Nobody is going to mourn them." She sniffed again and raised her arm to wipe her eyes on the back of her hand. "Nobody is going to mourn them."

"We are," Clint said. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "Try to get some rest, ok?"

Over the next 3 days, Natasha's physical injuries improved. The runny nose stopped without surgery, her headache became less constant, she was cleared from spinal injury, and her bloodwork remained stable. The doctors told her it was a miracle that with the amount of force it took to break her skull so badly, she hadn't also broken her neck or any of the bones in her face. Visions of fire and children's screams haunted her sleep, but she refused to take any sleep aid aside from melatonin. As soon as she was cleared for travel, SHIELD arranged for her airlift to Bethesda to continue recovery there.

Her headaches improved gradually, the vomiting stopped, and she was able to force down every ounce of liquid and every tablet of painkiller, anti-inflammatory, antiemetic, and antibiotic medication that her doctors wanted her to, but she could not muster an appetite no matter how persistently Clint or the nurses tried to goad her. Natasha pushed herself physically to do everything asked of her by the physical therapists, to the point where she was frequently sweating and panting with the pain and effort of exertion by the end of the sessions. Predictably, she completely shut down every time the trauma psychologists came to speak with her; Clint stopped staying overnight at her bedside once they'd returned to the States, but when asked directly she could not hide from him that she still had frequent nightmares from the ordeal.

Victoria Hand, who had run point on the mission, instructed her to lay low, take as much time as she needed to recover, but would not hear of her returning to desk duty for at least a month. She would be out of the field even longer than that. Natasha just wanted to throw herself back into work, to try to do something good to soothe her conscience, but even she could not deny the extent of her injuries. Her doctors advised that she not be left alone until she was cleared at a follow up visit in two weeks' time, what with the significant risks of worsening head bleeding and potential meningitis.

"I recommend staying with friends or family if at all possible. That kind of supportive environment will help optimize your recovery," Dr. Polaris, the primary SHIELD physician supervising her recovery, had told her on the day of discharge from Bethesda. She liked Dr. Polaris, a young woman with glossy brown curls and a kind face, but Natasha narrowed her eyes at the suggestion.

"I'll be fine," she argued. "I live at the Triskelion. There are other people around all the time, and all the doctors and therapists are in the same building." Ever since joining SHIELD, Natasha had lived in a studio apartment within the housing complex at the Triskelion. It was more of a home than she'd ever had in her life, and as humble as it was, she was comfortable there. Clint snorted.

"You are not going to get better left to your own devices in that cubicle," he said. "You're barely eating as it is, and what happens if you fall or something? You'd never call for help."

"How do you know that?"

"Hi, Agent Romanoff," he deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. "I'm Clint Barton, I believe we've met." She pursed her lips.

"Well, what do you suggest? You can't babysit me forever, Barton. Weren't you planning on going home for vacation anyway?"

He looked at her pensively. There was a long pause.

"I can have a social worker come and talk to you, see if you qualify for any kind of inpatient rehab program?" Dr. Polaris suggested, looking between them. Natasha's expression was stony and it was clear she would not willingly agree to anything like that. Clint shook his head.

"Let me make a phone call," he said, extracting his phone from his pocket and stepping into the hall. He returned 15 minutes later with a triumphant smirk on his face.

That was how after eleven days in the hospital, Natasha was discharged, given time to pack a bag, and found herself on a commercial flight to Kansas City with Barton at her side. It was a miserable journey between the pain and the confinement, so she was relieved when the flight attendant finally announced their descent into the city. Clint nudged her with his shoulder.

"Hey," he said in a low voice, "you hanging in there?" She shrugged

"Could be better, could be worse."

"Yeah," Clint nodded in understanding. "Listen, before we land, I need to talk to you about something. I couldn't say this before, at SHIELD, too many ears around." He exhaled deeply and looked Natasha squarely in the face. "We are going to my house, to stay with my family." She blinked, unsurprised.

"I thought so."

Clint's eyebrows shot up.

"Wait, I never told you that I was married."

"I excel at getting information out of people without them being aware they are being interrogated. It's part of why SHIELD hired me." She shrugged. "You've never told me specifics, but I've known you long enough to gather that you have a long-term partner and a young child."

Clint was floored.

"Well shit, Romanoff," he said, starting to laugh incredulously. "I wish you'd said something before now. Officially, only Fury knows. He helped me to keep my home and my family off of SHIELD's files for protection ever since i joined up." Natasha looked at him carefully, and could see a mix of urgency and vulnerability in his face.

"My lips are sealed," she said earnestly. He was willing to trust her with the secret of his family, the most precious thing he had, and she would honor it. She owed him this, and so much more. "Tell me about them."

Natasha saw Clint's blue eyes light up almost instantly. She learned that his wife's name was Laura and she was a nurse who worked from home, remotely taking after-hours patient calls for a couple of local family practice offices. She was surprised to hear that he had two small children, not just one. Cooper had turned 3 a few weeks before and was obsessed with everything to do with tractors. Lila was 10 months old and had just started cruising. Laura had sent him a video but he couldn't wait to see in person. They lived on a farm near a town called Lake Viking, not far from the Iowa border. It was perfect, a small town that was large enough to have good internet and access to resources, largely because of summer tourists and a popular art institute located nearby, but was quiet and the people were neighborly.

Once they had deplaned, duffels slung over their shoulders, Clint pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Laura, who was to meet them at the airport. Natasha was uncomfortably aware of the other travelers, far too many of whom stared at her, gazes lingering on her face for longer than was normal. The bruising around her eyes — "Raccoon eyes" was the actual medical term — had faded somewhat, but were still glaringly present. A few of the eyes slipped suspiciously to Clint, who remained close at her side, and she wondered how many of the passersby suspected her black eyes were from abuse. Natasha breathed deeply when they stepped outside to the curb, a gust of cool spring air with a light rain brushing against her cheeks, but it wasn't long before Clint was waving to the driver of a navy sedan.

"Hey, honey," Clint greeted his wife warmly with a chaste kiss. Laura beamed and wrapped her arms around him before stepping around him toward Natasha.

"Hi, you must be Natasha," she said warmly, approaching her with an outstretched hand. She was very pretty, not beautiful in the conventional fashion model sort of way, but she radiated such warmth and kindness that Natasha couldn't help but smile in return. The two shook hands. "I've heard so much about you from Clint and it's so good to finally meet you. Here, let me get that," she said, taking Natasha's bag and immediately handing it to Clint to stow in the trunk.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Natasha said, and she meant it. "Thank you for having me."

Natasha was exhausted and her head was pounding, so she welcomed the respite that came with riding in the back seat of the car while Clint and Laura chatted up front. They spent the drive catching up as the car sped down the highway, eventually turning onto a series of long, straight country roads. Natasha must have dozed with her head against the window because the next thing she knew, she was startling awake to the noise of car doors opening and closing.

She looked up at the two-story white farmhouse, complete with a wide wraparound porch and porch swing. The car was parked now in a patch of packed dirt to the side of the house, now pocked with small, uneven puddles from the light rain. There was a black pickup truck parked alongside. Near the edge of the property, a willow tree stood with its branches drooping under the weight of the rain. She undid her seatbelt and stepped out of the car. Laura insisted that Clint carry her bag inside and the three of them made their way up the steps and past a purple bicycle to the front door. The screen door creaked open and Laura led the way inside.

"Hey, Mr. Barton! Long time, no see!" A gangly teenage girl with a long, tousled ponytail and artfully ripped jeans greeted, rising from the sofa to meet them. She and Clint briefly exchanged pleasantries while Natasha looked around at the open space. It was furnished exactly like Natasha had expected a farmhouse to be, simple but tasteful touches everywhere, accented by well-loved and sturdy furniture, scattered children's toys, and a modest TV in one corner. Framed photos and sketches covered the walls. A kitchen was visible, cups and plates stacked neatly in an open cupboard and refrigerator covered with calendars and children's drawings.

"Kids down for their naps?" Laura asked. The girl nodded.

"Yep, both went down about half an hour ago. No problems. Cooper colored a picture for you, Mr. Barton, but he wanted to give it to you himself."

"Great, thanks so much for watching them, Julie." Laura withdrew a couple of folded bills from her wallet and handed them to the girl, who had been looking curiously at Natasha.

"Oh, this is my cousin, Natalie," Clint said easily, throwing a brief but meaningful glance at Natasha before addressing the teenager. "Natalie, this is Julie, one of our neighbors. She babysits the kids from time to time." Natasha forced a small smile in greeting.

"Thanks again, Julie," Laura said. "Need a ride back?"

"If you don't mind, that would be great. I'll come back for my bike when it stops raining." Laura smiled at Clint and kissed him again before stepping out again, leaving Clint and Natasha alone in the entryway of the house. Natasha blinked at him.

"Your cousin Natalie?" He shrugged, looking almost sheepish.

"Yeah, Laura's idea. The town is pretty small and everyone talks. It seemed like the best cover." She nodded. Smart. Nobody asked too many questions when a relative came to stay.

"C'mon, let me show you the rest of the house."

Clint took her on a short tour. The kitchen was small but functional and bright, a sturdy, scrubbed wooden table and chairs sat nearby atop a braided rug in shades of red, orange, and yellow. A sliding door off the kitchen led out to a back deck with a picnic table, cluttered with several pairs of rubber boots, a grill, some children's toys and assorted garden tools. The office was near a full bathroom and a guest room down a hall off of the formal dining room, and a creaky set of wooden stairs led upstairs to 3 more bedrooms and another bathroom, rooms belonging to Clint, Laura, and the kids. Clint opened the door to what Natasha thought was a linen closet but turned out to be a second, somewhat uneven, staircase to a third landing containing a bathroom and another large guest bedroom. Natasha turned on the second landing to look out a small circular window through which she could see rolling acres of farmland and trees beyond partly veiled by the misty rain.

"This place is incredible, Clint," she breathed softly. He grinned.

"Thanks. It's my favorite place in the world," he said honestly, still smiling. "Come on, Laura and I were thinking it would be best for you to take the room on the main floor, to limit the stairs. Also there's something weird with the plumbing in the bathroom up here, Laura thinks Cooper may have stuck play-doh down the shower drain again." They made their way back downstairs just as car headlights swept past the windows. Laura was back. Clint picked Natasha's bag up from the floor and led her to the back of the house where the bedroom was located, depositing the duffel atop the bed. Natasha looked at the quilt, which looked handmade, and ran her fingers gently over the intricately patterned squares and triangles in shades of blue and white, arranged to look like interconnected stars.

This place was truly more of a home than anywhere she had ever lived. Every corner of the place seemed welcoming, and these thoughts stirred up fresh doubts.

"Are you sure about this, Barton?" she asked.

"Listen, not gonna lie, Laura took some convincing," he started, "but she knows how few people at SHIELD know about this place. She knows that my trust isn't earned easily, and she probably still has some doubts, but ultimately she trusts my judgment and I trust you around my family."

She stared at him, speechless.

It was the biggest compliment she had ever received.

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I hope you've enjoyed this first installment.

Any and all feedback is encouraged.

Thanks for reading, y'all!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all for the many follows and handful of reviews! I am writing this largely because it's been rattling around in my brain for a couple of weeks and it's nice to get it down in writing, but the affirmations are nice :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the rights to anything that you recognize.

This chapter does NOT contain Endgame spoilers

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Spring 2009 - Part II

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Natasha had never been a particularly good sleeper. Perhaps she had been as a young child, but she could not remember that part of her life. Growing up in the Red Room, being a light sleeper had been a tremendous asset and had helped her to save her own skin more than once. Living as a spy had reinforced the value of waking easily at the sound of a pin dropping out of place. For a brief time after joining SHIELD, she had harbored a hope that she would be able to rest more easily. Breaking through the brainwashing instilled by the Red Room program proved only to unleash a torrent of new terrors and nightmares gushing with blood.

The memories of her previous misdeeds had always resided within her subconscious, but re-living each surfacing memory without the filter and focus of her Red Room training brought fresh horror when she woke. It was waking from each nightmare to the realization that the events had been real and that the monster from her nightmares was the same one staring back at her in the mirror. As each new atrocity surfaced in her dreams, she coped in her own way, beating back her demons mentally by throwing herself into her missions at SHIELD or physically though punishing workouts and training sessions. The initial flood of nightmarish memories after the brainwashing was lifted had hit her so hard that she felt suffocated. Her desperation for escape was so pervasive at times that she'd caught herself wishing, for the briefest of moments, that the day Clint Barton found her that first time had ended very differently. With every passing week, month, and year the battles had raged a little less and new memories began to surface less frequently. Coming to terms with her past and making peace with herself became ever so slightly easier.

The head injury had shaken her already manipulated subconscious mind into a new maelstrom of impossibly entangled nightmares and memories that tormented her sleeping hours. Before Baku, she had largely been able to discern memory from fiction. Now, Natasha could no longer be sure whether each new heinous recollection was a true memory or a fictitious creation of her trauma-stricken brain.

That uncertainty twisted restlessly in her gut like a living, poisonous snake.

The first night she spent at the Barton's home, she had drifted into sleep more quickly and easily than she could ever remember, the fatigue from the previous weeks combining with the inexplicable feeling of comfort and security acting as a powerful soporific. After only a couple of hours, her sleep had become fitful, between the injury itself and the tumult of memories and nightmares fighting to the surface of her consciousness caused her to wake frequently, head pounding, gasping for air, echoes of her dreams still hanging like fog in front of her eyes.

Natasha sat bolt upright so quickly that it sent the room swooping in front of, bile burning the back of her throat. She willed herself not to vomit, instead taking deep and steadying breaths until the room righted itself. The blinking digital clock at the bedside read 3:30 AM. Still in her bare feet, she slipped silently down the hall and out onto the cool night air, settling herself on the porch swing. The gentle rocking motion soothed her and she drifted into either deep relaxation or very light sleep, she wasn't sure which. A gentle breeze teased the loose strands of hair at her temples while the soft chorus of crickets and chirping birds brought reassurance that the night was nearly over.

As the sky on the horizon was fading from black to a vibrant navy, the porch door creaked open and she turned to see Clint, tousle-haired and wearing a t-shirt and sweats, standing at the door with two steaming mugs. "Morning," he said as he handed her one of the mugs. "How did you sleep?"

She shrugged, accepting the mug from him gratefully and shifting over to allow Clint room on the swing beside her. She sipped the strong black coffee.

"What time is it?"

"Quarter after six." For several minutes they sipped their coffee, looking out over the fields and trees as the first rays of pure sunlight started to dry the dewy grass. "How are you feeling?"

"Head doesn't hurt so much," she told him, meeting his eyes with a tiny smile.

"Not what I meant and you know it." She turned away from him, fixing her eyes on the horizon and the lightening sky. It wasn't just that her true memories and her nightmares were scrambled. Most of her usual outlets for dealing with her demons were physical—running, sparring, ballet drills. Sparring, of course, was out of the question, but she had been frustrated when even short jogs and the focus required for ballet drills both set off her head injury.

"Everything has felt jumbled ever since Baku, it's hard to sort out which nightmares are real." she said, carefully not looking at her partner. Clint nodded, seeming to understand. He had spent enough time with her both on and off missions to know that she was a restless sleeper at the best of times. They had slept in close proximity often enough that he could tell when she woke from a nightmare gasping, dazed and guarded. He'd had enough of his own restless nights to know what it looked like to wake still fighting off demons. "And the usual ways of clearing my head are off-limits," she continued, lightly tapped her temple in explanation.

"We'll have to find you some new ones, then. Don't worry, there's plenty to do around here. We'll put you to work. Light work," he clarified quickly.

The two continued to drink their coffee in companionable silence, side by side on the porch swing, as the sun rose over the countryside. This was idyllic, she thought, and she didn't belong here. She was a deadly assassin with a twisted, traumatic past and bloody nightmares sitting in this tranquil and bucolic setting. The contrast was unnerving and made her intensely uncomfortable..

"Clint, why did you bring me here?" She asked suddenly. He could tell the question had been pressing into her thoughts for a while, and he knew from the tone of her voice and the earnest expression in her green eyes that she was genuinely curious and uncertain. He looked at her steadily.

"Because being stuffed in that cubicle that you call an apartment back at the Triskelion would not have helped your recovery. You'd be too isolated, too bored, and too—" Clint broke off at the sound of a baby cooing. He took a baby monitor out of his pocket and smiled. "C'mon, let's go get the munchkins. I told Laura she could sleep in this morning."

Lila's nursery was pale yellow and bright, and Natasha smiled without thinking when she looked around Clint to see the little girl smiling, standing up and bouncing in the crib, her tiny fists curled around the bars. Clint lifted his daughter out of the crib, quickly changed her diaper and onesie, and handed the baby to Natasha before she could refuse. Lila looked at her curiously, her dark eyes bright, alert, and curious. She'd never thought of herself as being good with kids, or one of those women who cooed over babies, but the warm weight of this tiny child settled against her was strangely comforting. Then, without warning, the baby reached out, grabbed a chunk of Natasha's hair, and yanked.

"Ow!" She gently extracted her hair from Lila's fist and the baby giggled. Natasha swept her hair back and over the opposite shoulder, away from the infant.

"Watch out, she's in a hair-pulling phase," Clint laughed softly, emerging from the bedroom across the hall with Cooper sitting on his shoulders, hands snug around the child's ankles. Cooper held onto a stuffed raccoon, sleepy-eyed but smiling in his shark pajamas.

"Thanks a heap," Natasha deadpanned, shifting Lila on her hip as the baby unknowingly landed a squirmy knee directly on one of her broken ribs.

"Nasha!" Cooper said happily, holding the toy out to her.

"Oh, is this Ricky?"

"Uh-huh," Cooper nodded. The evening before, when Natasha had first met Cooper, he had pointed at her face and exclaimed "Just like Ricky!" Laura had sheepishly told her that Ricky was the name of Cooper's favorite stuffed toy, a raccoon, and Natasha had smiled genuinely. Small children never hesitated to speak the honest truth.

"You are very observant, for a little person," she said as she followed Clint and Cooper down the stairs with Lila. Laughing and keeping his legs over his father's shoulders, Cooper flopped backward, arms dangling down toward the floor, still holding the stuffed raccoon by the tail. He looked at Natasha with a goofy grin on his face and went into a fit of giggles. It was so unexpected and amusing that Natasha let out a short burst of laughter without thinking, which was quickly met by shooting pain from her broken ribs and a dull throb at her temples.

It was the first time she had laughed in weeks.

The idea of being around small children had unsettled her at first, but after that first day Natasha was taken aback by how much these tiny humans put her at ease. When she played with Cooper and Lila, they demanded her full attention, which offered a way for her to take her mind off of that night in Baku and everything that followed. She learned to properly change and bathe the baby, who squealed with delight whenever Natasha helped her to walk around the room by herself, each of her strong fists curled around one of Natasha's fingers in support. She learned Cooper's daily routine and accepted her assigned role in whatever imaginary world he had conjured for them to inhabit during playtime. He still called her "Nasha," which Laura insisted was endearing despite Clint's teasing about how close it sounded to "Nausea."

The farm itself was very peaceful. It wasn't a fully functioning farm, although there were a dozen chickens and a large vegetable garden. All told, it was 26 acres of mostly untouched land, a combination of large fields flanked by dense trees. A large barn held a tractor and riding lawnmower among other equipment, and Clint had built up a small clearing deep in the wooded area to use for target practice to keep his skills up when he was home.

Natasha soon found that her recovery was going better than expected. After those first couple of days, when the newness had worn off, the Bartons started to settle into a family rhythm rather than treating Natasha like a guest. Simply being up and about in the fresh air seemed to be speeding her healing, whether it was helping Laura tend to the garden or feed the chickens, chasing Cooper around, or spotting Clint while he cleaned the gutters. As Clint had expected, Natasha needed to be _doing _things in order to avoid going stir-crazy, so he and Laura would incorporate her into the rotation of household chores, child care, and meal prep, always keeping a close eye and replacing the tasks with less demanding ones when her pain or fatigue became noticeable.

A nurse by training, Laura kept a particularly close eye on her recovery. Natasha quickly realized that she had initially misjudged Laura, who was not nearly as reserved or acquiescent as she'd thought. A few days of knowing her and Laura could already intuit when she needed pain medication or rest, and she was certainly was not shy about speaking up. She insisted on a daily afternoon rest, limited Natasha's screen time, enforced a daily symptom check-in, and made sure she was completing her physical therapy exercises each day. When Natasha developed a worsening cough 3 days after arriving on the farm, Laura correctly guessed that Natasha had left her incentive spirometer—a device that encouraged deep breathing—back in DC. Not long after, she produced two small plastic bottles of children's bubbles and ushered Natasha and Cooper outside, suggesting a bubble-blowing contest.

"I see what you're doing," Natasha had said as Cooper delightedly grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the porch.

"Mmhmm," Laura smirked. "You two have fun now."

Laura was one of those truly kind souls who, under other circumstances, would have made Natasha suspicious of the motivations for her kindness. She seemed to intuit what others needed before they knew themselves and she had a knack for knowing when to press for a response, when to let things be, and when to call the others on their nonsense. Natasha thought that Laura was someone she could befriend independently of their connection through Clint. Laura seemed to be warming to her as well, rather than being kind and hospitable only because it was the right thing to do, which Natasha suspected was the case during those first couple of days.

"Laura has officially taken a liking to you," Clint told her one evening while they were sitting side-by-side in front of a crackling bonfire, one week into her stay. He took a swig from his beer bottle and nudged Natasha with his elbow. "I think you've accidentally made a friend outside of SHIELD." He had meant it to be teasing, but the honest expression that crossed her face told him that his comment had hit a little close to home.

He was right. He often was, when it came to her. Natasha had made very few close friends in her lifetime, and the list of people she trusted was essentially a Post-it with two names on it: Clint Barton and Melinda May. Maybe she would add Fury or Coulson in the near future. May was her supervising officer and first trainer when she had joined up with SHIELD. She had been a close confidant until about 5 months before, when an op in Bahrain had gone horribly wrong and the extraction May had to stage was traumatic enough for her to request a transfer to a desk job. Natasha still spoke with her on occasion, but they weren't as close as before.

"I like her, too. She is a really great person, Clint."

"Yeah, she's far too good for me." He nudged the base of the fire with a long iron poker before adding more brush to the fire. They watched as the flames brightened and burned higher for several seconds before calming again.

"How'd you get her to marry you?" She asked, smirking and nudging her shoulder into his. He let out a laugh.

"Beats the hell out of me. All I know is that I'm one lucky bastard."

"That you are," Laura appeared behind them, smiling. She handed one of the two travel mugs in her hands to Natasha, who thanked her.

"We were just trying to figure out why you married him," Natasha said, a small grin on her face. Laura shrugged and took a seat on the other side of her husband.

"The heart wants what it wants, I guess," she shrugged. Clint leaned in to kiss her.

"Kids go down okay?"

"Yep, once Cooper stopped asking for 'Nasha' to come read him a story. For a hardcore spy, you've been fantastic with the kids." Natasha shrugged and took a sip from the mug. Chamomile tea, as expected. Laura kept making it for her in the evenings, hoping it would help her to sleep. She hadn't told her that the kind gesture was more soothing than the tea itself.

"It's easy, they are good kids," she said. She was starting to see that children might be easier to befriend than adults. All she had done to impress Cooper was show kindness, no deception or layers of manipulation, and the boy had taken her hand and invited her into friendship without question or motive.

Clint put his arm around Laura, who had scooted her chair closer to her husband. The two shared a smile.

"Ever think about having your own someday?" Laura seemed to blurt out the question without thinking. She'd asked conversationally, as if this was a normal topic for light conversation among childless young women when talk of the weather or the local sports team had run dry. Natasha thought perhaps it was, among Laura's friends, in this part of the country.

Her body seemed to seize up on the inside at the question. She could feel their gazes on her as she kept her eyes trained on the flickering fire in front of her, keeping her face carefully blank. She missed the subtle motion of Clint's hand gently squeezing his wife's shoulder too late, and she missed the look of regret and embarrassment on Laura's face declaring she knew she had overstepped and asked something a little too personal, a little too casually.

Natasha paused a little longer than intended before she said, softly but definitively, "No."

The truth was that she had thought about kids, as all women do, perhaps more so after spending time with Cooper and Lila. Those thoughts did not change the past or the fact that she could not bear children of her own. The Red Room graduation ceremony had robbed her of that possibility. Natasha could never see herself with children, and even now could not imaging raising kids of her own, but there was a strangely profound sadness in having that door closed altogether.

She had been 16 years old at the time of the graduation ceremony, long before she could fully comprehend the gravity of what it all meant and she never could have guessed at the emotional scars the procedure would leave. It had been efficient, and resulting in both her sterility and a stop to her monthly periods without altering her hormones, requiring surgery, or leaving external scarring. Natasha had not known at the time what was happening outside of an overwhelming sense of invasion accompanied by incredible pain, bleeding, and cramping for several days afterward. Then her periods had stopped and she had mentally sequestered the trauma of the experience to a remote corner of her memory. An ultrasound during her medical intake when she joined SHIELD had confirmed what she had suspected, that the deep and profound scarring of her uterus and fallopian tubes had rendered her infertile.

She had never told a soul outside of the SHIELD physicians.

She was not going to start now.

That night, the graduation ceremony featured prominently in her dreams.

She had no difficulty discerning what was real.

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* * *

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Natasha woke before dawn again the following morning but was unable to return to sleep. She clicked the bedside lamp on and its light cast a soft yellow glow around the room. She was careful to avoid the four specific points on the floor that would make the floorboards creak as she made the bed and dressed in her running leggings and a t-shirt. She crept across the hall to splash cool water on her face before pulling a hooded sweatshirt, borrowed from Laura and bearing the Iowa State hawk, over her head. She examined her reflection. The deep circles around her eyes had faded and she now resembled a very exhausted individual rather than the punching bag in a bar fight. She silently pulled on her sneakers and slipped out of the house.

Natasha stretched and started with some light calisthenics in the dark until the sky started to lighten just enough to illuminate the country roads. She turned to start on a light jog but whipped around abruptly at the tiny creak in the door hinge. Clint stood there in a hoodie and athletic shorts, grinning at her.

"Great minds think alike," he said, meeting her at the bottom of the porch stairs. "Want some company?"

"Sure, if you don't mind that I'm not back in full form yet."

"No problem. You just let me know if you need a slower pace or a break."

They set off at a comfortable pace down the road as the sky brightened around them. A couple of miles down the road Natasha could see the glimmering waters of Viking Lake reflected through the trees, a fine mist hanging over the water. Without speaking, she turned to jog down a branch of the road heading toward the water. Clint remained at her side.

They alternated running with jogging as the sun peeked over the horizon. Natasha focused on controlling her breathing and remained tuned into her body's cues. Not even a hint of a headache. Good. As long as there was no headaches or neurological symptoms, she was fine powering through the throb of pain from her ribs that pulsed with each breath. This was okay, the pain was manageable and she felt invigorated by the activity. They kept running and turned onto a path that ran along the lake shore, which was well-kept and clearly part of a public park. Natasha was breaking a sweat despite the cool morning air and her lungs were starting to burn. It felt good to be back to doing something that was an important part of her usual routine.

She kept her eyes trained on the shoreline to her left, which was sandy at the shore and the water had red-and-white buoys bobbing gently in the water at a short distance, meant to keep swimmers from venturing out too far. There was a long, empty dock off in the distance. A boat was visible about a hundred yards out, probably someone fishing. Clint had talked about liking to fish as well and was in the process of waxing the boat in the barn for just that purpose.

The path ended after half a mile, and Natasha continued to jog onto the shore, slowing her pace to compensate for the added difficulty of running on the sand. She glanced over at Clint. He said nothing and continued to let her set the pace. The burning in Natasha's chest with each breath was worsening. She would have to turn around soon.

And then her eyes fell on a child's toy on the beach. It was a red-and-yellow plastic boat, its little stern partly buried in the sand.

A memory surfaced, unbidden. An olive-skinned little boy clutching a similar toy to his chest as if it was his only comfort in the world, tears streaking down his face from fear as a mobster stood nearby with an assault-style rifle trained on her. Tears sprung to her eyes as the faces of other children appeared behind the boy, every face carrying an expression of terror and pleading.

She was so focused on the gun and the kids that she hadn't noticed the dead-man's switching time.

She should have been faster.

She tried to mentally block out the faces and the events from that night but they appeared at the forefront her mind's eye regardless of her attempts. The harder she tried to push it down, the brighter the explosive flames burned. The memories seemed almost as raw as they had on that night and now they came crashing over her with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.

Tears blurred the corners of Natasha's vision. Maybe it was the physical exertion or her injuries or the several preceding sleepless nights, but she was unable to stop hot tears from falling. She hoped weakly that they would be lost in her now-sweaty face, but Clint knew her better than that, so she did the only other thing she could think of: she ran faster. She sprinted with abandon across the beach, kicking up sand in her wake, Clint's shouts of alarm ringing out behind her.

Blood started to pound in her ears and mixed with the screams from her memories and without being conscious of it. She sprinted on, trying to outrun the grief that threatened to suffocate her. Before she knew it, Natasha's legs had carried her to the end of the empty dock. With nowhere else to go, she collapsed to her knees. Her face streamed with silent tears and she gulped air that burned acrid in her lungs. Bile started to rise in the back of her throat, but she held it down. Her sweatshirt suddenly felt suffocating and she yanked it roughly over her head.

Heavy footfalls and the dull metallic thunk as each footstep hit the aluminum dock announced that Clint had caught up, panting.

"Out of shape, my ass," he muttered, panting. "Natasha, what the hell?" He didn't ask if she was okay. He already knew the answer to that question. She refused to look at him even as he sat down next to her.

The screams were still in her ears and their faces were seared into her vision. The force of the explosion, the smell as everything—and everyone—burned. The bile rose in her throat again.

She turned, coughing and retching over the side of the dock. Clint was alarmed at the uncharacteristic show of emotion. He reached out and gripped her shoulder, half afraid she would plunge into the water herself. She startled at the sudden contact and aimed a blow at him without thinking, but pulled back almost immediately. A look of horror crossed her face and she relaxed her arms, seeming to realize where she was and what she had been about to do.

Natasha sat back, panting, wiping the intermingled tears and sweat from her face.

"Sorry," she muttered. Clint nodded and sat beside her. Several seconds passed in silence.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

They sat looking out at the lake as the sun rose and the mist started to fade.

"You know, in all the chaos of the last couple weeks, I never got a chance to apologize," Clint said in a low voice. Natasha looked over at the expression of regret on her partner's face, surprised.

"For what?"

"I should have been up at my rendezvous point sooner, should have realized sooner that the comms were out. Maybe from a different perspective, I could have seen the bomb or the trigger. I should have shot the son of a bitch before he ever had a chance to detonate."

"None of this was your fault."

"Maybe not, but what's the point of working as a team if I can't be there to watch your six?"

"You were watching," she said. "I might not have made it out of the rubble otherwise." She shifted so that her shoulder touched his bicep. "Between the AK-47 and all those kids—" Natasha felt her tears start afresh. She kept her voice level. "I didn't expect the bomb."

"No, neither did I."

The sun was fully visible over the horizon now, its reflection fully visible in the calm water of the lake. The mist had burned off and the small boat she had seen on the lake earlier seemed to be motoring back towards the dock. Natasha made to splash water on her face before remembering that she had recently vomited into the lake; she took several deep, steadying breaths, dried her face on her tank top, and arranged her features into a mask of cool nonchalance.

The little boat stilled 10 yards from where they sat and a young man stepped out, dragging a cooler, before tying it town. Clint nodded in the young man's direction.

"Hey, Clint! I heard you were back in town for a bit," the man called enthusiastically. Natasha retrieved Laura's hoodie from the dock and stood with her arms crossed over her chest as the slim, sandy-haired man approached. He couldn't have been older than 25, with a stubbled face and wide eyes that glanced from Clint to Natasha and back in question.

"Good haul this morning?" Clint asked easily.

"Not bad," he said, approaching and shaking Clint's hand in greeting. "Who's your friend?"

"My cousin, Natalie. She's staying with us for a couple weeks. Nat, this is Jason Tanner. He helps his dad run the hardware store in town." She nodded to him in greeting but said nothing, watching instead as his eyes roamed uninvited down the length of her body, lingering where the fitted tank top and leggings revealed her silhouette. Clint noticed. He snapped his fingers in front of Jason's face. "Hey, buddy, she's up here." Jason grinned.

"Well, hot cousin, I live on Sycamore if you ever—" His words were effectively cut off by Clint pushing him off the dock and into the water with a loud splash and a string of expletives.

"You know, I _can_ handle myself," Natasha said with a small smirk.

"Yeah, well, he's had that coming for a while now. It felt good." They started back down the dock and ignored Jason's angry protesting once he'd resurfaced. "And put that hoodie back on." She laughed at him.

"Yes, _dad_," she said. Natasha hip-checked him in jest but Clint, caught off-guard, stumbled over the edge of the dock and splashed into the lake. She stared, mouth slightly agape, and moved toward the edge of the dock stifling a laugh. She knelt and offering her hand to him. "Sorry, Clint! I didn't think you'd actually fall in."

"It's okay," he laughed. He held out a hand and braced the other on the dock, sopping hair plastered across his forehead. She clasped his wrist, but instead of pulling himself up, he used his bracing hand as leverage to pull her off of her feet and into the lake beside him.

"Hey! That was uncalled for," She splashed water into his face. Clint continued to laugh.

"You started it!" he splashed her back. Both climbed back onto the dock and the cool morning air seemed to slice into Natasha's skin. She pulled the dry sweatshirt over her head.

They started the walk back to the house in relative silence, clothes drying gradually and water squishing in their shoes. Clint suggested a different route back, one which would take them past a diner in town for a cup of coffee. Her adrenaline had worn off and Natasha was feeling the effects of her earlier physical exertion. Her chest burned with each breath and a headache was building at the base of her skull. She thought of the bottle of Aleve sitting in the drawer of her room and rubbed at the back of her neck, deciding that coffee and a break would be welcome. A bell over the door jingled when Clint pushed it open and the hostess sat them in a booth near the back. Natasha excused herself to the restroom as Clint pulled out his phone to call Laura.

There was a single bathroom at the back of the diner. Natasha closed and locked the door, switching on the light to illuminate the outdated but clean restroom. She gripped the sides of the porcelain sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment before splashing water on her face. Her ponytail had become disheveled after falling into the lake, so she shook it out and finger-combed it into a braid that hung over one shoulder. Feeling a little better, she washed and dried her hands and left to rejoin Clint at the table. There was already a steaming mug of coffee at her place at the table.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip.

"Laura is wrangling the kids to join us," he said. "Thought she could use a morning off from cooking, you could use the distraction and the ride back. She's also bringing some of your pain pills."

"Thank you," she told him gratefully. She fiddled with a corner of the menu while the waitress filled their water glasses. She watched Clint's face as he pored over a menu. Natasha could hardly begin to comprehend what she had done to deserve a friend like him. She didn't feel as though she deserved any friends at all, and yet he had seen the worst of her and had chosen to grant her a second chance anyway. Their friendship, their partnership as Strike Team Delta, those were unexpected bonuses. Now he had seen her through a life-threatening trauma, invited her back to his home and shared his most guarded secret—his family—with her. She knew that he had shades of gray in his past, too, and yet she did not think she knew a better human being.

Without thinking about it, she reached across the table and took his free hand with hers, tips of her fingers across his palm, and gave a gentle squeeze. He lowered the menu and looked at her with surprise at the gesture, but it only took him a second to read the pain, relief, and gratitude in her eyes. Clint turned his hand in hers and squeezed back. It was enough to break a second dam inside of Natasha's chest and fought to hold her emotion inside with gritted teeth. Clint rose and slid into the booth beside Natasha, putting his arm around her shoulder and hugging her tightly. She hadn't realized how much she craved the contact and the feeling of security prompted a tear to slide down her cheek.

"I just," her voice trailed off. "Thank you. For everything. I owe you."

"Nah, you don't owe me anything. This is just what friends do. I know you'll have my back on my next stretch of bad days." Natasha took a breath and steadied herself. Clint squeezed her shoulders one more time and then moved back to his side of the table. He handed her a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. "Here. Laura will kick my ass if she thinks I made you cry twice before breakfast."

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* * *

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Before she knew it, two weeks had passed and it was time for Natasha to head back to SHIELD headquarters for a follow-up medical exam and to ease back into physical training. The bruises around her eyes had disappeared and her ribs only pained her with more strenuous activity. Her head injury was another matter; the headaches came more frequently than she would have liked and she still had dizziness when she sat up too quickly; she hoped the doctors could help her work through it. Natasha wanted to be back on the job more than anything.

She stripped her bed and pulled the beautiful quilt back over it. She wiped down the bathroom and neatly folded her sheets and towels before removing a small envelope from her bag and placing it on the pillow. Gathering the linens under one arm and slinging her bag over her opposite shoulder, she left the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

Lila giggled and cooed as Natasha hugged her goodbye, while Cooper wrapped his little arms around her legs in a viselike grip and cried that he didn't want her to go. Laura rescued her not a moment too soon.

"Coop, let go please. You'll see Nat again the next time she comes for a visit," she said, gently prying her son loose. She, Clint, and Laura had transitioned Cooper from "Nasha" to "Nat" for two reasons. First, Laura had said, Clint was a child and refused to stop calling her "Nausea" in mockery. Second, it was easier to justify calling her "Nat" if she was using her alias Natalie Rushman while she was in town.

Laura shooed Cooper back to his toys before hugging Natasha, smiling in earnest. Natasha was still struck by the implication that she was welcome to come back again.

"You come back whenever you'd like, okay? This house is always open to you," Laura said, her face close to Natasha's ear. They pulled away and Natasha gave Laura a genuine smile.

"Thank you for everything, Laura," she said genuinely. "I don't know how to repay you." Laura shook her head.

"Don't even think about it. That's what friends are for. Besides, you have been an incredible help. You have no debt here." Natasha nodded.

"Thanks."

Clint appeared at the front door, his pickup ready to take her to the airport. SHIELD was having her fly commercially again, but Natasha didn't mind. She stuffed her bag down at her feet and the truck's engine sputtered to life.

"You have a good visit?" Clint asked, putting the truck in gear and starting to pull down the long driveway. She thought of the little envelope that she had left for Laura, containing a brief note of thanks and her personal cell phone number, just in case.

"It was wonderful," she said truthfully. She took a long look at the white farmhouse as Clint turned onto the main road.

At that moment, Natasha did not feel as though she was going home.

She felt like she was leaving it.

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* * *

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Hope you enjoyed this installment, the next will be up within the next week.

All of your reviews, follows, and feedback are welcome and appreciated.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Thanks for your patience, it's taken much longer than expected to put this chapter out. It was a crazy week in my life, bits from future chapters of this story were falling into place, and this one got much longer than originally anticipated. This chapter is also split into 2 parts, the second part is mostly written and should be out before the weekend.

Thanks to those of you who have favorited, followed, and especially commented on this story. I appreciate all of the feedback very much.

Spoilers will be true to the timelines, so this one contains the tiniest spoilers for Thor and Captain America. There are no flashes at all to the future (I promise fair warning, no worries).

Also fair warning, since this chapter takes place at a point in the timeline that isn't before or after anything particularly significant, it mostly explores the relationship between Natasha and the Bartons. Piles of fluff ahead.

Enjoy!

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* * *

Autumn 2011 - Part I

* * *

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"Hey, Nat!" Natasha's head whipped around to see her best friend leaning over the center console of a gray pickup truck to wave at her through the window. She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and stepped off of the curb, skirting around two lanes worth of stopped traffic, weary travelers, and rolling suitcases toward where Clint sat in his truck.

"New wheels?" She asked, pulling open the door. The truck was unfamiliar to her; otherwise, she would have spotted him in the congested passenger pick-up lanes at the Kansas City airport long before he'd had the chance to pull over. She _always_ spotted him first.

"New to me," Clint said as she stuffed her bag at her feet and slid into the passenger seat. He pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Flight okay?" She nodded and he turned his attention to navigating the truck around the other reuniting passengers and pulling into the crawling traffic.

Natasha buckled her seatbelt and looked over at Clint. He seemed more relaxed than she'd seen him in a while, which was good. It had been a few months since they had worked a mission together. Clint had spent a chunk of the summer on assignment in New Mexico at Coulson's request, while Natasha was fresh off of a 12-week undercover assignment in Russia. They spent several minutes in relative silence before Clint merged onto the highway and glanced over to her.

"It's been a minute," he said. "What's new?"

"Your truck, apparently," she said. "It's nice. You've been talking about upgrading for a while now."

"Well, I got a nice bonus after New Mexico," he told her with a smile, patting the dashboard proudly.

"How was the mission?" She asked.

"It was… weird," Clint said, taking a beat to find the right word. He thought back to the aliens, the hammer, the astronomers. "Really weird." Natasha didn't press for details. She knew that despite both being level 6 operatives, there were often aspects of their independent assignments that they were not cleared to share with each other. Like, for example, the fact that Clint had no idea where she had been or what she'd been up to for the previous months. "Anything you're cleared to tell me about the last 3 months of your life?"

"Classified," she confirmed. It was important work, she knew, but as her missions went, this one didn't rank high on the excitement factor.

"You just get back?"

"Yesterday morning. Went back to my place for a shower and some sleep, finished the debriefing paperwork, and left again this morning."

"That's not a lot of time at home."

"See, this is why I still live at SHIELD," she told him. Clint and Laura both—and, come to think of it, Coulson as well—had been bugging her to get what they called a 'real apartment' in the city, somewhere outside of the Triskelion. She just couldn't justify spending such a huge chunk of her paycheck just to spend the time when she was in DC looking at a slightly nicer set of 4 walls. "How are Laura and the kids?"

They spent the remainder of the drive with Clint filling her in on the goings-on of the family during that summer. Lila was now nearly 3 and her verbal skills were exploding, a relief to both himself and Laura since she had been a very late talker. Both of the kids had spent the summer taking swimming lessons and while for Lila it was more about getting her accustomed to the water, Cooper was actually pretty good and wanted to join the competition team the following year. Laura was still working part-time from home and performing the Sisyphean task of keeping up the house while chasing two small children and, at the moment, putting together a birthday party for Lila that would take place that upcoming weekend.

"It's hard to believe she's almost 3," Natasha said, remembering a time not long ago when the little girl had been a giggly baby whose favorite pastime was attempting to yank out Natasha's hair by the tiny fistful.

"Tell me about it," Clint said. "I'm still having trouble with the fact that Cooper is in Kindergarten now."

The sun was low in the sky when they pulled into the drive of the house, golden rays reflecting off of the vibrant October leaves and seeming to set the trees aflame. The house looked the same as before, though the front porch was now decorated with autumn gourds, hay bales, and a colorful wreath hanging on the screen door. Clint gave a chuckle as he parked the truck and Natasha followed his gaze to see a small boy in rocket ship pajamas and bright red cowboy boots peering out through the screen door. When he spotted them he bolted out the door and down the steps, the screen door banging loudly on its hinges behind him.

"Auntie Nat!" He yelled excitedly, hurtling himself into her arms. She picked him up and hugged him.

"Hey, little guy," she said as he settled into her arms. He pouted at her.

"I'm not little anymore, I'm in kindergarten now," he said matter-of-factly.

"We aren't allowed to call him 'little' anymore, either," Clint informed her as they headed up the porch stairs and into the house.

"Okay then, big guy," Natasha corrected. He beamed at her.

"What, no hug for your dad?" Cooper squinted up at Clint and shook his head.

"I just saw you this morning," he said. Clint feigned offense.

"Well, okay then," he said, then called into the house, "Honey, we're back." Natasha set Cooper down as Laura came down the stairs and into the room, Lila following on her heels

"Nat, it's so good to have you back, it's been a while," Laura said genuinely, the two women embracing. Natasha smiled.

"It's good to be back," she said truthfully, peering around to look at Lila, who had made her way into Clint's arms. She smiled at the little girl, whose soft, baby face was starting to give way to sharper, more distinctive features. She resembled a tiny Laura. For the first time, she noticed a dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Lila's eyes, Natasha noticed, were still sharp and observant, looking at her somewhat warily. She didn't blame the girl, it had been months since her last visit.

"Lila, you remember Nat," Clint said, also sensing his daughter's lack of enthusiasm despite having known Natasha much of her life. He pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face. Laura shook her head.

"It's okay, she's just tired. Wait until she wakes up tomorrow morning, Nat, she'll be piling her books into your lap just like you'd never left," Laura grinned. Cooper had made his way over to Clint and tugged on the leg of his sister's yellow footie pajamas.

"Look Lila! Auntie Nat came to visit! She's nice and always plays with us. But she likes me best," Cooper added with a cheeky smile. Lila scrunched her face up at him.

"Nuh-uh, she doesn't!" she said. Cooper stuck his tongue out and Lila started to whine.

"So now that the kids are riled up right before bed," Laura said, pressing her palm to her temple. Clint laughed. After some resistance from Cooper and a promise that Natasha would still be there in the morning, Clint had carried both kids upstairs for a story and bedtime. Laura exhaled deeply.

"It is really so good to see you," she told Natasha, steering her into the kitchen. "Especially as a planned visit and not because you're on medical leave."

Natasha gave a guilty shrug in agreement. Her missions in 2009 had not been kind to her. In early spring, she had sustained skull fracture, minor brain bleed, and several broken ribs during a mission with Clint in Azerbaijan during which he had literally pulled her out of a burning building to safety. The recovery had seemed agonizingly protracted, even with the knowledge that the experimental serums in the Red Room had granted her somewhat accelerated healing. It had been 3 months before she'd been allowed back in the field for a simple recon mission, in large part because she had sustained a pretty significant concussion. Then, during her first combat mission back in the field in late November, an untraceable assassin in Ukraine had sent a Soviet slug without rifling tearing through her descending colon in an attempt to kill the engineer she was protecting.

"You'll notice that my injuries are getting less life-threatening," Natasha said lightly, opening the bottle of red wine She had been handed. "All the time off without the mortal wounds."

"You mean like a _vacation_?" Laura laughed. "No, we can't have people thinking you like doing things outside of work." Natasha smiled and clinked glasses with Laura, taking a grateful sip. She had missed this.

Clint returned from putting the kids to bed 20 minutes later to find the two women sitting at the kitchen table with glasses of red wine, a plate of cheese and crackers between them. Salmon and veggies were roasting in the oven and wild rice cooking on the stovetop. Natasha and Laura looked up at him as he entered, falling quiet for a fraction of a second.

"Talking about me?" He asked, picking up the wine glass that Laura slid toward him.

"Maybe," Laura said. "Maybe not."

"Anyone ever tell you you might be a little paranoid?" Natasha asked, taking another sip of wine.

"No, why, did you hear something from someone?" Clint smirked at her. He raised his glass toward them in a mock toast just as the oven timer sounded. A few minutes later the three of them were tucking into their steaming plates. Natasha couldn't remember the last time she had such a good meal — she suspected it was during her last visit to the Barton homestead — and she told Laura so.

"So I take it you didn't just come off of an assignment at the Ritz?" she said, spearing a piece of roasted eggplant with her fork. Natasha swallowed a mouthful of rice.

"Nope, Clint had seniority on that one," she deadpanned.

"And you ended up going…?" Laura trailed off in a question. Natasha shook her head.

"Classified." In truth, she had spent most of her assignment in Russia eating bland _haluski_ and simple _blini _reminiscent of the meager meals she had grown up with in the Red Room. Once, she had discovered the best spiced lamb and potato _pirozhki_ sold by an elderly grandmother from a food cart in Volgograd, but on her third visit the old woman had recognized her and she'd been forced to forsake the place out of concern for blowing her cover.

"You weren't part of the team that pulled Captain America out of the ice, were you?" Laura asked slyly. "I was hoping at least one of you could spare some details about him." Clint raised an eyebrow, setting his fork down.

"Even if I was involved, there's no way I'd be dumb enough to introduce my wife to Captain America."

"You're right, you wouldn't stand a chance in comparison," Laura teased, leaning over to kiss him reassuringly. "But Nat could have a shot with him." Natasha shook her head.

"Not my type. He seems far too—" she searched for the word. "—Too _righteous_. I don't trust people like that."

"Speaking of which, anyone special in your life lately?" Laura asked. It could not have been clearer that she had been bursting to ask about Natasha's love life. Natasha chewed her mouthful of salmon and shook her head.

"No way," Clint said. "I would know." Both women took a beat, looked at each other, then started to laugh.

"Sorry, Honey," Laura gasped, actually giving a tiny snort of laughter. "But no. I'm pretty sure that Nat could be engaged and you would be oblivious unless she dangled the ring under your nose."

Natasha raised her eyebrow meaningfully at him, tilting her head slightly. His mouth gaped slightly in disbelief.

"No way—" Clint said, audibly doubting himself just long enough for Laura and Natasha to start laughing again. They spent the rest of the evening settling into comfortable chatter, the two women occasionally making jokes at Clint's expense, polishing off a second bottle of wine between them as the hands on the clock circled. It was Laura's involuntary yawn around 11:30 that finally signaled the end of the evening. Laura and Clint excused themselves to their bedroom, leaving Natasha to walk the familiar creaky hallway past the office to the guest bedroom that the Bartons now referred to as "her room" more often than not.

Natasha creaked the door open and saw that the familiar blue-and-white stellate quilt covering the bed. She unpacked her bag and noticed the pair of thick socks she had borrowed from Laura on the previous visit — pale blue, woolen, and so comfortable that she hadn't wanted to give them back—sitting folded in the top drawer of the dresser. She changed into pajamas and found the small toiletry bag containing a few essentials just where she had left it in the bathroom cabinet. Crossing the room to slip quietly into bed, she avoided the usual creaky out of habit. When Natasha curled up under the blanket, the familiar hum of the heating vents and the faint lavender of the linens enveloped her, and she fell asleep nearly as soon as her head hit the pillow.

It seemed only moments later that she awoke to a not-so-hushed whisper outside of her door and the cool rays of early sunlight falling across her face.

"Auntie Nat," Cooper's voice carried through the gap under the door. "Are you up yet?" She sat up quickly, orienting herself. Natasha pulled on the thick blue socks and a sweatshirt, sweeping her long, messy curls out of her face, and crept toward the door. "Mom and dad said you can't play with me until you're awake. Are you awake?"

She flung the door open without warning and whispered "Boo!" Cooper gave an excited whoop and he scrambled to his feet, retreated several paces, and started to run toward her. She readied her stance as Cooper hurtled himself into a familiar half-somersault a few feet from her, tumbling forward in midair before he straightened his legs. Natasha's practiced hands caught him around the ankles just before his arms hit the floor. His peals of laughter rang out as she dangled him in midair.

"Is this awake enough for you? Huh?" She asked playfully, jostling him as he dangled upside down by the ankles. Cooper's body vibrated with laughter. He was still giggling as she he helped him down, watching him square his hands on the floor before helping him kick his legs forward and land on all fours.

"Can we do that again?"

"Maybe later. First, breakfast." They padded into the kitchen and Natasha was surprised to find it empty. Maybe Clint and Laura had been asleep, but there was no way they'd slept through Cooper's antics. Laura walked into the room just as the thought was crossing her mind, pulling her tousled hair back and smoothing it into a ponytail.

"Morning, mom!" Cooper said brightly.

"Morning, sweetie," she said, dropping down to plant a kiss on top of her son's head. She turned to Natasha, who had been pouring a glass of orange juice for Cooper. "Sorry he woke you."

"Not a problem. So, big guy, got plans today?" Natasha asked, starting to make coffee while Laura layered yogurt and granola into a bowl for Cooper.

"Yep. I made a list of all the fun stuff we are gonna do this weekend."

"And you have school today," Laura said.

"I don't think I'm going today," Cooper informed her matter-of-factly, stuffing a large spoonful of breakfast into his mouth.

"Not an option." Cooper pouted.

"But Auntie Nat is here," he whined.

"And I will still be here when you get out of school this afternoon," Natasha said. "School is very important."

"Fine," Cooper said, sounding defeated, and continuing to eat his breakfast. Laura shot Natasha a smirk, pouring coffee and handing a mug over to her.

"I need to start calling you for backup with all of our disagreements."

"Happy to help."

The three of them left Clint home with Lila, both still sleeping, to drop Cooper off at school and then run a few errands. Lila's 3rd birthday party was the following day and Laura had organized a small party at the house, so the two of them spent most of the morning picking up the cake, balloons, decorations, and groceries. Once they returned, Natasha helped Laura clean the house. This mostly involved carting the clutter on the back porch into the barn, stuffing the kids' toys and the melange of household debris into the office, and clearing the surfaces and floors of visible dust and dirt before scrubbing down the kitchen and bathrooms. The gleaming surfaces wouldn't last long, Laura said with a shrug, and she wouldn't have bothered with so much if her mother hadn't been coming to visit. After storing the cleaning supplies and washing their hands, Laura had started assembling lunch for Lila while Natasha sat on the floor with several children's books now piled in her lap. She smiled at the little girl as she brought Natasha a different book, knelt beside her, and opened to the first page.

"Your mom is coming tomorrow?" Natasha asked in a tone that Laura could not place. She saw that Natasha had cleared her face of emotion but her eyes were sharp.

"Yeah, she gets in tonight actually, did Clint not mention that?"

"Neither of you did you," she said pointedly.

"Oh, well, she's driving down from Iowa tonight and going back tomorrow night after the party. Sorry, I thought you knew," Laura said apologetically.

"Don't apologize, she's your family." Lila was tugging at Natasha's shirt sleeve and pointing meaningfully at the cover of a book. "_Hop on Pop_," Natasha read, but she had barely read the words on the cover before Lila stood up, walked back to the bookshelf, and grabbed another book to bring back to Natasha.

"Well, she's come to all of the kids' birthday parties. She knows about you, of course, because the kids have brought you up before. Lila, come eat lunch," Laura said, setting Lila's plate on the table. While the little girl trotted off to be settled into her booster seat, Natasha carefully extracted herself from beneath the small library piled in her lap.

"What does she know?" Natasha asked, joining Laura in the kitchen now to make lunch for the adults.

"The usual. Natalie Rushman, Clint's cousin, not close in childhood but reconnected on Facebook when you found out you both worked in the same special forces division of the Army." Natasha nodded, but remained silent.

Cooper kept her busy when he got home from school, insisting that the piles of raked autumn leaves that Clint had been busy piling up all morning were just perfect for jumping in. The pile was well over Cooper's head and large enough for both he and Natasha to do elaborate spins and flips into the leaves. After hearing Cooper's raucous laughter, Clint joined in, and Laura soon followed with Lila. Natasha had not laughed that hard or had quite so much fun in a long time. Cooper soon swept them up into a make-believe game featuring pirates and astronauts and before she knew it, it was time for dinner.

Laura's mother, Bonnie, turned out to be a woman with a bubbly personality, warm smile, and long salt-and-pepper hair held back in a headband. She closely resembled Laura, and although she was a few pounds heavier than her daughter, her features were much sharper. Warm hugs and greetings were exchanged with Cooper, Clint, and Laura while Natasha stood slightly apart from the rest of the family. After the initial commotion settled, Bonnie greeted Natasha with a smile — which did not quite reach her eyes— before Cooper pulled his 'Bibi' upstairs for story time and to tuck him into bed.

Natasha, Laura, and Clint settled at the kitchen table with a round of drinks and Bonnie joined them half an hour later after she returned from Cooper's room. They made small talk and Natasha decided she liked Laura's mother well enough, but she did not feel comfortable enough to let her guard down. It seemed from the not-so-furtive glances Bonnie was shooting in her direction that the hesitancy was shared. At one point, Clint noticed, stealing a sideways glance at his partner as he reached across the table for a handful of nuts. He recognized the mask all too well. After just half an hour that seemed to stretch into an eon, Natasha excused herself to allow Laura, Clint, and Bonnie to talk under the guise of catching up with work.

The following morning dawned clear and cold. Natasha sat at her usual perch on the porch swing, hands warming around a hot cup of coffee, and watched the subtlest hint of frost on the grass melt into dew as the weak rays of dawn lightened the sky. She had always been an early riser, a habit so deeply ingrained by the Red Room program that even when she slept free of nightmares, she rarely woke later than 7:00. She glanced at her watch.

"Cutting it close, Barton," she said. "I was about to go without you." Clint stepped onto the porch with a yawn, wearing sweats and his running shoes.

"You wouldn't."

"I definitely would." She drained the last of her coffee and stood, stretching. "I'm not about to leave late and risk a guilt trip from Laura when we get back." Clint snorted, stretching his hamstrings.

"Yeah, well I would get it from Laura _and _from her mother. Bonnie's great, but I'm not about to give her ammo to use against me."

"You talk a lot," Natasha said. She smirked at him, turned on her heel, and dashed down the driveway.

"Hey!" he protested, sprinting to catch up with her.

An hour later, they arrived back, sweaty and out of breath, to find everyone else awake and scrambling for breakfast before the day's party preparations could begin in earnest. Somehow every member of the family was able to eat, bathe, dress, and start preparing the house for guests. By noon, an hour before the party started, all of the decorations were out, party games prepared, and trays of rigatoni that Laura and Natasha had prepared the day before warming in the oven.

A couple of weeks prior, Natasha had asked Laura over the phone what she could contribute to the party. Laura had shrugged her off with the usual "oh, just bring yourself," so she had consulted Clint and arranged a bounce-house rental as a surprise. The rental company arrived right at noon to the immense delight of both Cooper and Lila. It turned out to be a welcome way to get the kids out from underfoot so Laura and her mother could finish up the last-second preparations; Natasha supervised the kids and Clint moved the family's vehicles around to the side of the house so guests would have places to park.

Natasha had never attended a child's birthday party before. She saw one from a distance, once, through the scope of a sniper rifle while on a contract assignment when she was fresh out of the Red Room. Her handler had given her the gun, a target, a time, and a location. She had gone to carry out her orders with little thought to why she had been sent to execute the ruthless, corrupt mob boss operating in a small Russian province during his daughter's birthday party. Natasha had remembered being grateful that she'd acted as a sniper, from a distance, so she couldn't hear the sound of the window glass shattering over the din of party music, children's laughter, and happy chatter. It was meant to be an easy job, with an easy target.

But she hadn't taken into consideration the normal aspects of early childhood, the love that children had for their parents and desire for physical contact. After all, Natasha had no personal recollections of such things. She had not expected the moment, so precisely and horribly chosen between the time the bullet left her gun and the instant that it found its mark, when the child had leapt into her father's arms. The little girl could not have been more than 7 or 8 years old.

She had been so focused on her target that she had not widened the scope of her view even for a second to note the scene unfolding around her mark. The look of anguish on the father's face as he realized his daughter's inadvertent mistake, realizing his own mistakes had cost his child's life as well, the deep red stain blossoming on the back of her pale pink dress, the way father and daughter fell together, it was all seared horribly into Natasha's memory. It had been the first time she had ever made a mistake on a mission.

That had been the first time, as a fully trained graduate of the Red Room, that she had slaughtered a child.

It was one of those memories that had first surfaced years before, after SHIELD had started to undo the psychological brainwashing of the Red Room. The memory had been masquerading as a nightmare but she'd known it was real the moment she woke in a cold sweat.

Lila's laughing pulled her from her reverie, and Natasha stuffed the image of the little girl back into the recesses of her mind and coaxed her consciousness back to the present. Lila was laughing with delight at Cooper, who had just done an impressive flip inside of the bouncy house and landed on his feet.

"Did you see that Auntie Nat? I did a flip!" Natasha hitched a smile onto her face and clapped her hands.

"Yes, that was impressive, kiddo!"

"Come bounce with us!" Cooper urged happily. She smiled and found she could not refuse.

Guests began to arrive and Natasha found ways to skirt the fray and stay on the edges of the chaos, feeling out of place as the only attendee without children of her own. The couple dozen attendees were largely comprised of neighbors, church friends, and Lila's daycare playmates, and every family came with a gift for Lila and a dish to share. She was able to relinquish bounce house supervision duty to Clint long enough to slip inside for a glass of water, and Laura caught her arm just inside the doorway.

"Hey, Nat, I'm sorry, but would you mind pulling one of the pans out of the oven? We should start feeding people before they get hangry," she said. Natasha started to nod her assent but was interrupted by the arrival of a mousy woman balancing a small baking dish and gift bag in one hand holding onto a small child with the other.

"Oh Beth, Kaylie, so glad you could make it," Laura said with enthusiasm that, to Natasha, felt a little practiced.

"What a lovely party, Laura," the woman said, releasing her little girl from her grasp so she could run to blow bubbles with a small group of other kids. "Does it have a theme?"

"Sure, the theme is 'birthday party,'" Laura said smoothly. Natasha suppressed the urge to laugh. The woman pressed her lips into an annoyed line and went to deposit the dish and gift in the appropriate places. She met Natasha's gaze and muttered, "Just having a party isn't enough anymore unless the whole thing looks like a Pinterest idea board."

The chaos level remained consistent as food was consumed, games were played, and crafts were assembled. The bounce house was a huge hit with the kids and a number of the parents voiced approval and thanks. Natasha found that, try as she might, small flashes of that previous birthday party continued to poke unbidden in front of her eyes, just intrusive enough to keep Natasha on alert and to make it difficult to be present in Lila's celebration. Her eyes focused on Lila as she painted a tiny pumpkin with a couple of her little friends, then on Cooper kicking a ball back and forth with another little boy. Keeping her attention on them helped her to remain grounded. She summoned the presence of mind to appear relaxed and happy as Clint appeared in her peripheral vision, but he knew her too well for that.

"You're looking a little glazed over, there, Romanoff," he said. She noticed he carried two bottles of water and he handed one to her. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said. She opened the bottle and took a grateful sip.

"Memories?"

"One."

Clint nodded. He suspected which it could be but did not want to ask for confirmation. He had become intimately familiar with Natasha's known exploits with the KGB and the Red Room Program, when SHIELD had initially tasked him with tracking her down. Of course, so much of her life before SHIELD was unknown to him and he did not want to risk opening a second wound.

"I'm sure Lila wouldn't notice if you disappeared for a few minutes," he murmured in a low voice. Natasha nodded, the autumn light glinting off of her red curls, but stayed where she was.

A short time later, all of the partygoers were gathered around the kitchen table where Lila sat in front of a large birthday cake iced in white and covered with large pink and yellow sugar-icing roses. Three little candles were placed on top and lit, the flickering light reflected in Lila's eyes. She glanced around the room, suddenly looking shy. Cooper had climbed up onto Natasha's shoulders, complaining that he couldn't see over all of the people, and sat there contentedly as his parents stood next to Lila. Candles were lit, everyone sang, and photos were taken. Natasha marveled at how much more grown up the little girl was now compared with she the chubby 10-month-old she met during her first visit. She sat smiling and a little fidgety between her parents, wearing her favorite black sweater with the rainbow buttons (which she could fasten by herself now, she had told Natasha earlier with pride) and a sparkly unicorn appliqué on the left chest. Her hair was longer now and had lost most of her baby curls, pushed out of her face with a glittery headband. Lila was fast developing her own interests and opinions, but dark eyes held the same spark as the first time Natasha had met her.

When she blew out all of the candles in one breath, Natasha smiled and clapped with everyone else, keeping Cooper's legs securely pinned under her arms. Then a balloon popped, two children screamed, and a third was startled enough to burst into tears.

Her body stiffened involuntarily as though every muscle in her body had spasmed at the same time. She shut her eyes briefly but all she could see in front of her was the tunneled scope of a sniper rifle looking onto the macabre scene from years before. Her ears rang out with a gunshot, shattering glass, and screaming that she had never really heard but that existed so vividly in her nightmares.

She blinked hard, then blinked again. The little girl was running, loose blond hair bouncing as she did, flinging herself into her father's arms and the bullet ripping through both of their bodies. The blood on her dress, splattered on her father's tortured and grief-shattered face. The only sound she had heard was the wind rushing over the rooftops.

Natasha stood there, paralyzed, seeing and hearing only what her memory would allow. She had no idea how many seconds, even minutes, had passed, but she became aware of two small hands on her head and a voice in her ear.

"Auntie Nat, I want to get cake, can you put me down now?" Cooper's voice sounded confused and seemed far away. Natasha blinked again, the room swam slowly back into focus, and she willed herself to drop to one knee and help the little boy off of her shoulders. She found she couldn't look at him, not wanting to see fear in his eyes. When he was safely on the ground, she stood and slipped out of the room as quickly as possible without drawing attention to herself, not stopping to breathe until she was sequestered in the guest room with her back against the locked door. She crossed to the corner of the room and sat there with her knees against her chest, taking large, deliberate breaths and trying to stop her body from trembling.

Cooper appeared at Laura's side as she was cutting the cake. He gave his mother a cheeky smile and asked for an extra-big piece of cake with a frosting flower. Clint chuckled and continued to stick plastic forks into the pieces Laura had already cut, handing them into the crowd.

"An extra-big piece, huh?" Clint asked. "You know nobody gets a piece bigger than the birthday girl's, right? It's the rules." Cooper narrowed his eyes at his father.

"Nuh-uh, that's not a real rule." Laura cut him a slightly larger piece and Clint handed it to him with a wink.

"Honey, does Auntie Nat want a piece?" Laura asked, mechanically cutting squares and placing them on plates.

"I dunno," Cooper shrugged, unceremoniously stuffing an entire frosting flower into his mouth at once. Laura looked around the room to ask herself but didn't see Natasha anywhere.

"She was just with you, where'd she go?" Clint asked, a tiny concerned crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"Dunno. Can I go eat with Dylan and Josh?"

"Hang on," Clint said, a gentle hand on his son's shoulder to direct his attention. "Which way did Nat go?" Cooper pointed unceremoniously in the direction of the guest bedroom. "What happened?"

"The balloon popped and she went all stiff, then she put me down and her face went funny and she left. Can I go find Dylan and Josh now?" Clint and Laura exchanged looks.

"Sure," Laura said. "If you see Bibi, ask her to come help with the cake," she turned to her husband and lowered her voice. "You should probably—"

"—yeah" Clint said, standing and making his way through the dwindling crowd toward the downstairs guest bedroom. He was concerned about his partner; as far as he knew, she hadn't had a flashback like that in quite a while. The door was closed. He knocked softly. No answer. He knocked again.

"Nat?" He paused, listening intently. "Natasha, you okay?" Still nothing. Wanting to make sure she hadn't inadvertently hurt herself or tried to flee, he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned. Locked. Clint reached above the door frame and felt for the small metal pin that acted as a key, finding it and inserting it into the tiny hole on the doorknob. It clicked. "Hey, I'm coming in."

He very slowly opened the door on high alert for an attack. Surprising Natasha, however unintentionally, was never a smart move. He found her sitting in the corner, knees to her chest, staring straight ahead unseeing. Clint sighed under his breath. It had been a very long time since he had seen her like this. He crossed the room slowly.

"I'm gonna to sit next to you, okay?" She gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod and he slid to the floor beside her. They sat in silence for what felt like a solid 10 minutes. Very gradually, he moved so that his shoulder and upper arm were flush with hers, hoping that the contact would help ground her in the present. It seemed to work; she began to lean into the contact.

"I don't want to talk about it," she murmured, eyes still glazed and staring at the closet door in front of her.

"Okay."

Another long stretch of silence followed. Without looking at him, Natasha seemed to come back to the present. She blinked several times and slowly, very slowly, the memory began to recede into the dim fog of her consciousness. Laughter and chatter from outside were muffled but registered and helped to root her in the present. Clint's arm was a a comforting presence against her own, and without thinking she leaned against him and unabashedly rested her head on his shoulder. It was a small intimacy that she rarely allowed, one that gave Clint insight into how deprived she had been of physical contact growing up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered without preamble.

"Not your fault." She shook her head lightly, a few long curls falling in front of her face.

"I need to control them better," she muttered. Clint knew she meant the flashbacks and he couldn't help but look at her in disbelief.

"You _are_, Nat. You've done a great job working through everything these past few years. And if not, you've had me fooled."

"Well, that's not hard," she said, lightly jostling her elbow against his and a shadow of a smile flitted across her face. A few more seconds passed before she snapped back upright, her expression panicked now. "Cooper," she said quietly.

"He's fine," he reassured her. "Thinks you don't like balloons popping. You set him down and he ran over for cake, asking to play with his friends." Natasha shook her head a fraction of an inch to either side.

"I could have hurt him."

"I don't think you would have," Clint said. "We've triggered each other often enough, and you've never gone for the kill during a flashback. Not even when you were fresh out of the Red Room."

"But—"

"Listen," his voice was low and firm now. "Do you seriously think I would let you come into this house if I thought you'd hurt a single person in it?"

She did not answer.

"Lila's going to open birthday presents soon, then everyone will leave. You hang out here as long as you need, okay? I'll keep my phone on me." She nodded. Clint stood, gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and left the room, closing the door softly behind him and leaving her with her thoughts.

* * *

Let me know what you think; as always, I would appreciate reviews, favorites, and follows.

The next chapter will feature more exploration of Natasha's past, lots of sweetness with the kids, and a somewhat skeptical grandma. Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to those of you who have favorited, followed, and especially commented on this story. I appreciate all of the feedback very much.

Spoilers will be true to the timelines, so this one contains the tiniest spoilers for Thor and Captain America. There are no flashes at all to the future (I promise fair warning, no worries).

Also fair warning, since this chapter takes place at a point in the timeline that isn't before or after anything particularly significant, it mostly explores the relationship between Natasha and the Bartons. Piles of fluff ahead.

Enjoy!

* * *

Autumn 2011 — Part II

* * *

Talking to Clint and splashing cold water on her face helped calm Natasha enough to hitch the ebullient mask back onto her face and rejoin the party. She sat next to Bonnie and 'ooh-ed' and 'aah-ed' with the rest as Lila opened her gifts. It was an awkward practice, watching a small child open birthday presents in front of a crowded room, but it did not take long and, as Clint had predicted, the guests were soon saying their good-byes.

Sunset found Bonnie taking a turn in the bounce house with the kids while Natasha and Clint gathered what he called "party shrapnel" into garbage bags and Laura packed and stored the leftover food. Natasha volunteered to walk the trash out to the garbage cans. When she came back into the kitchen, she heard her name and froze.

"—not sure about that Natalie girl," a voice she recognized as Bonnie's was saying from the living room. Natasha hung back in the kitchen, near the stove where she was out of Bonnie's sight line.

"Not this again, Mom," Laura sighed, sounding a little exasperated.

"I know, it's just, after meeting her in person, something just feels off about that one. She seemed pretty spaced-out today—"

"Kids' birthday parties are not really her scene—"

"—practically _dropped_ Cooper earlier—"

"—she did not _drop_ Cooper—" Natasha could almost hear Laura rolling her eyes, but a pang of guilt shot through her chest all the same.

"—seems far too comfortable with Clint—"

"—They're cousins, Mom—"

"—Always together at work, you say—"

"—That's what it means to be 'partners' in the service—"

"—There's something just not right about her!"

Laura _tutted_ loudly. Natasha imagined her assuming the usual hands-on-hips scolding stance.

"Mom, I love you, and I appreciate you looking out for me—"

"But?"

"_But_," Laura said with a heavy breath, "This is my marriage, my family, and I trust them _both_."

"I think you might be making a mistake," Bonnie said quietly. "Trusting a stranger with your marriage..."

"Okay, first of all, I've known Nat for years, she's hardly a stranger. Second, I do not have to justify my family's decisions to you."

_"Your_ family? Am I not part of the family anymore?"

"Ugh, Mom!" Laura said, sounding frustrated now. "Of course you are."

"But not enough to be honest about this?"

"I _am_ being honest, but I don't expect you to understand. Dad was an accountant. Clint puts his life on the line for his country every single day and every time he goes out for a mission there's a very real chance that he might not come back." Laura's voice started to tremble with those last words, but she seemed to steel herself quickly. "Once, a few years back, he saved Nat's life. Family or not, she feels indebted to him. She has risked her own skin more than once to make sure that he comes back home after every mission. She has never once made an inappropriate advance and even if she did, I trust Clint completely." Laura sighed. "My marriage is not your marriage, Mom."

Natasha chose that moment to slip back toward the door and slide it open and closed again to signal that she was back in the house. Predictably, the two women fell silent as Natasha poured a glass of water and finished wiping down the kitchen counters, taking care not to be any louder than she normally would. She was relieved to hear footsteps pounding on the deck outside and both kids flung themselves through the sliding door, looking windswept, hair tousled. She was glad for the extra second she'd had to set her glass down because Cooper spotted her, ran forward, and leapt up at her, wrapping his arms around her neck and his legs around her waist. He clung there like a sloth and beamed up at her.

"Having a bouncy house in our front yard was the best thing ever! You are the coolest!" She returned the hug.

"I'm glad you had fun," she said. Lila was tagging behind also smiling, by this time having caught up with her brother, wrapping her arms around Natasha's knees.

"Thank you Auntie Nat!" She said. Natasha carefully set Cooper down and scooped up Lila.

"Happy birthday, _myshka_," Natasha said with the kind of gentle smile that only the kids had the power to extract. She moved to push Lila's tousled hair out of her face and frowned. Her forehead was hot to the touch. "Sweetie are you ok?"

"I don't feel good," she said. She wrapped her arms around Natasha's neck and held on. Natasha made her way out of the kitchen.

"Laura," she called. She gave it a few moments but called out again when she didn't see Laura in the living room either.

"Yeah?" Laura's voice sounded from the porch. Laura's face appeared at the screen door and Bonnie was close behind.

"Lila's forehead feels hot." Laura came inside and felt her daughter's forehead, also frowning.

"She has been congested all day. Maybe she wore herself out. I'll get the thermometer." Natasha stood there unmoving, Lila burrowing further into the crook of her neck.

"Is Lila sick?" Cooper asked.

"Maybe," Natasha said. "But she'll be okay, don't worry." She ruffled Cooper's hair with her free hand. Bonnie stepped forward and reached out for Lila, but the little girl made no effort to loosen her hold. Neither did Natasha.

Laura returned with the thermometer and after half a minute confirmed a low-grade fever. Laura shook her head slightly, leaving again to get the tylenol. Natasha carried Lila upstairs to her room and helped her into her pajamas. By the time they finished, Laura was back with the Tylenol and Bonnie in tow

"I don't understand, she was fine all day," Natasha said. Laura gave her a small smile.

"She's been _distracted_ all day. She's had a little cough and congestion brewing, but now that she's tired and all the hubbub has died down…" she allowed her voice to trail off as she tipped the medicine into Lila's mouth. The little girl took it without protest.

"I'll tuck her in," Bonnie said, a protective tone in her voice. "I have to say goodbye anyway."

"You're leaving?" Lila asked her grandmother.

"Just until next time, honey." Laura and Natasha left the room and headed back down the stairs.

"So how are you feeling? Any better?"

"I am so sorry, Laura," Natasha murmured. They found Clint playing with Cooper in the living room and sat together on the couch.

"No need to apologize, you didn't do anything wrong. Besides—" she lowered her voice. "Coop really had no idea. Nobody else said anything either. You handled it in the best possible way." Natasha paused. She hated bringing her past into the Bartons' home; it felt like she was contaminating something. Unable to think of an adequate response, she sat there next to Laura in silence.

Winding down for the evening, Clint put in a video for Cooper and all of them sat in the room, Clint and Natasha reading through documents on their tablets and Laura doing the crossword. Bonnie rejoined them for a short time after Lila had fallen asleep before it was time for her to go back. Clint and Laura loaded her arms with packaged leftovers before she hugged them and Cooper (she gave Natasha a curt smile), wishing them well and promising to come back soon. When the door had closed behind them, Laura let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. Cooper retreated back to his post in front of the TV to resume his movie.

"Wow," Clint laughed, looking at Natasha. "And here I was thinking there was nobody on the planet that Bonnie liked less than me. What'd you do?" Natasha shrugged and shook her head.

"Must have been my winning personality," Natasha said with a grimace. She wouldn't mention the conversation she'd overheard, though she had a shrewd idea that Laura would talk to Clint about it when they had a moment alone. She nodded to Clint. "What did you do that was so terrible?"

"Bonnie's never thought I was good enough for her daughter," Clint shrugged and put his arm around Laura, who relaxed into his embrace. Natasha raised her eyebrows, slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, and shrugged her shoulders, her facial expression clearly stating her opinion on the matter. Laura laughed and Natasha's face slid into a smile.

"You know, sometimes I don't love that the two of you get along so well," Clint said ruefully. Laura chuckled and stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"I specifically recall you telling me that you were glad I had a friend who wasn't a 'church mom,'" Laura reminded him. "Although in my defense, that description fits pretty much every woman my age in this town."

"Speaking of which, are you going tomorrow?" Natasha asked. "I can watch Lila."

During her first visit to the Barton homestead, she had been somewhat surprised to learn that Clint and his family were religious. At least, the family celebrated Christmas and Easter and regularly attended services at a non-denominational Christian church nearby; Clint joined them whenever he wasn't away on a mission. Natasha probably should have foreseen it, with both Clint and Laura having been raised in small Iowa towns, but his faith was something Clint rarely mentioned away from home. He described himself as being "a fan of canon Jesus;" he liked the general message and thought it would be good for the kids to grow up believing in a higher power who advocated "loving your neighbor," "welcoming strangers," and "helping the least of these."

Niceties aside, Natasha personally had difficulty swallowing a document stating that eating shrimp was a sin but selling a daughter into slavery was okay, and she had difficulty accepting a god who would send a pack of bears to maul a bunch of kids because they mocked a guy for being bald. Needless to say, she was not a church-goer.

"I had wanted to, but let's see how Lila is in the morning. Cooper might be bummed to miss his friends at Sunday School, but he'll be okay."

The three of them rejoined Cooper in the living room where a recent release featuring animated yellow aliens. Natasha absorbed herself in her SHIELD tablet, looking over the background files for her next assignment. She only realized that the movie was over when Cooper appeared at her side, poking at her shoulder and holding a book in front of the eyes.

"Will you read to me?" His hazel eyes twinkled with anticipation. Natasha smiled, switched off her tablet, and set it aside. Cooper thrust the book into her hands and scooted closer, helping her open the book to the marked page. He leaned against her and she began to read.

"'_Chapter 6, The Journey from Chapter Nine and Three-Quarters. Harry__'__s last month with the Dursleys wasn__'__t fun_…'" Clint and Laura stood and collected the used glasses and mugs, exiting to the kitchen so as not to disturb the pair.

"You know, for a 'big kid,' he sure likes to snuggle with Nat," Clint said.

"Speaking of Nat," she said soberly, her eyes fixed on her husband's face, "what happened today?"

"Flashback of some kind, I think," Clint said, shrugging his shoulders briefly. "She didn't really say, and I didn't push her."

"I wonder what triggered it?" she wondered aloud, not really respecting a response. Laura knew that there were certain confidences that Clint kept, usually pertaining to Natasha's past. She knew the gist of what the Black Widow's life had looked like before Clint had intervened and brought her to SHIELD, but she had made a point not to pry. Although she had never said so, Laura had a shrewd suspicion that was a big part of why Natasha felt so comfortable here. "Obviously something about the party, maybe the balloons popping? I just want to try to prevent it from happening again."

"Not sure, she didn't say. Just sat there. I haven't seen her have a flashback that bad since we came back from Baku a couple years ago."

"She also hasn't had one around the kids before, at least as far as I know," Laura pointed out.

"Yeah," Clint nodded in agreement, "she looked terrified when she asked how Cooper was doing after she set him down and took off. The thought that she might have hurt him really freaked her out."

"I don't think Cooper suspected a thing." She echoed his own thoughts from earlier.

"And Natasha would never hurt the kids. Or any other kids, for that matter." At least, Clint thought, not since she'd joined SHIELD and broken free from her mental prison. He knew the file on the Red Room program more intimately than most of the SHIELD agents tasked with a related operation, both through those files and in knowing Natasha, and some of the details of the children's training regimen sent a chill through his blood. It was enough to know that only about a quarter of those who entered the academy would graduate from it. He shook those unsettling thoughts off quickly.

Clint and Laura both looked over at their friend, sitting cozily on the couch with Cooper nestled at her side, focused on the book in front of them. Something she read made them both laugh and Natasha tucked a long, red curl back behind her ear before turning the page. When Laura first met her, she had been struck by the mismatch between Natasha's youthful face and the trauma-weary eyes that made her seem decades older. Now, sitting there with Cooper, she witnessed one of those rare times when the light in Natasha's eyes reflected her true chronology, a woman who had just entered her late twenties.

"She's probably going to have a rough night," Clint said. Laura nodded in agreement. She couldn't think of a single way to help her friend except to be there with a cup of tea —or shot of vodka— and sympathetic ear if Natasha asked. The two of them stood in silence for another minute.

"I should go check on Lila," Laura said. She gave Clint's shoulder a squeeze as she stood and walked toward the staircase. She found Lila sleeping restlessly but did not want to wake the child. Her fever seemed to have broken for now. Laura watched her sleep for several minutes before changing into her pajamas and going back downstairs. She heard Natasha's even voice as she stepped off of the staircase.

"…'_Taking Dudley to the hospital,__" __growled Uncle Vernon. __"__Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings.__"_'

"'Cause he still had a pig tail from Hagrid's umbrella!" Cooper laughed loudly. "That's funny!"

"That's the end of this section," Natasha said, a small smile playing on her lips.

"That's perfect, because it happens to be exactly your bedtime," Clint interjected, nodding to his son.

Cooper only put up a little protest before going willingly with his father to bed. Laura sat on the couch diagonally from Natasha, who was replacing the bookmark and setting the book on a nearby table. Their eyes met briefly.

"Is it okay if we don't talk about it?" Natasha asked quietly.

"Sure. Want some tea?"

"No, thanks."

"Vodka? I have a bottle of the stuff that you like."

"No, thanks. I think I'm just going to go to bed." Laura looked into the younger woman's face. She would not meet her eyes.

"You know where to find us if you need anything," Laura offered, and Natasha nodded in understanding.

"Thanks."

* * *

Laura woke just after two o'clock in the morning to a hoarse, rasping cough and found Lila in bed awake, crying, and burning with fever. She recognized the distinctive barky cough as a symptom of croup, so after another dose of tylenol she wrapped Lila in a blanket and carried her downstairs, heading for the cold air outside. As she passed into the front hallway, she saw that there was a sliver of light glowing under the door of Natasha's room. She stopped and listened for a moment.

There was a dull, rhythmic sound coming from the room, a muffled _thump__…__thump__…__thump thump_. Concerned, she quietly moved down the hallway and lightly tapped on the door. The noises stopped.

"Nat," she called softly through the door. "Are you okay?"

A second later, the door swung open. Natasha stood there with her hair swept into a bun, dressed in a tank top and athletic leggings. She had a look on her face that Laura couldn't quite read, containing stony rigidity and focus along with a trace of trepidation. Soft classical music played in the background. Laura also noted, surprised, that she wore tightly laced ballet shoes.

"I heard noises and got worried," she told Natasha, by way of apology.

"Is Lila okay?" The little girl rested on Laura's hip, looking sleepily between her mother and Natasha.

"She has croup, so I'm taking her to sit in the cold air for awhile, to help her cough. I saw your light on and heard thumping so I wanted to check on you first." Natasha nodded.

"Want company?"

"Sure." Natasha untied and slipped off her ballet shoes and into thick socks, tugged her hoodie over her head, and followed Laura and Lila down the hall. They took seats on the porch swing and Lila gave a round of gasping, bark-like coughs that startled Natasha. She had never heard a sound like that coming from a child before. Laura gave her an understanding smile.

"Croup has a distinctive cough. It sounds worse than it is," she said reassuringly. "The cold air helps." Natasha reached her right hand over to stroke Lila's hair, damp from sweat.

"Hang in there, _myshka_," she murmured. Lila calmed for a moment, turning her head on her mother's shoulder to look at Natasha. She continued to stroke the child's hair until her eyes started to fall closed.

"So, I've gotta ask—ballet?" Laura said, glancing over at her friend. Natasha shrugged.

"Old habits," she said simply.

"Where'd you learn to dance?" Natasha glanced at Lila, who appeared to be falling asleep, then back at Laura.

"My…training program," she said. Laura looked aghast, unable to reconcile in her mind the idea of such a graceful art being taught at a harsh boarding school for young assassins-in-training. "The school's cover was as a ballet academy. That's how they explained the existence of the building, the kids, some of the financing. It was also the ruse for recruitment."

"Recruitment?"

"Yeah," a dark look crossed Natasha's face. "We were all orphans. The headmistress would go around to orphanages across the country, scouting for young girls who seemed to have certain qualities: discipline, focus, intelligence, physical health and strength. She assessed each girl and if selected, the orphanage was told the girl had qualified for a place at the ballet school."

"And the orphanages just let them take the kids?"

"Both were run by the state, nobody asked questions," she told Laura. "And in order to keep up the act, we learned ballet."

Lila was half-awake, eyes partly closed but still looking in Natasha's direction. She continued to stroke the little girl's hair. When she had been Lila's age, she supposed her own mother would have done the same when she was ill as well.

"Were you good?"

"The best in my year," Natasha said quietly, bitterness in her tone. "The drills are very focused and technically complex. Helps me take my mind off—" a coughing fit from Lila interrupted her thought. Laura shifted her daughter in her lap, but the change in position and, Natasha thought, discomfort or fear from not breathing well caused Lila to wail. Fat tears rolled down her bright pink cheeks, her harsh breathing sounded like the child could barely get air in.

"Shhhhh," Laura hushed. "Calm down baby." She hummed a lullaby and rubbed her daughter's back, but Lila only cried harder. The harder she cried, the worse her breathing became.

"I have an idea," Natasha said, and retreated into the house. She returned back to the porch less than a minute later with Laura's laptop and Lila's favorite DVD in her hands.

"Good thinking," said Laura appreciatively over Lila's crying, watching as the DVD was loaded into the laptop and began to play. Natasha pulled a small plastic table around from the side of the swing to rest in front of it, propped up the laptop, and sat back on the swing.

As she had predicted, Lila's crying quickly waned when the opening score of _The Sound of Music_ began to play. Her breathing eased and she settled back into her mother's arms, turning to see the screen. Both Natasha and Laura relaxed.

"I'll take her to the d-o-c-t-o-r in the morning," Laura said softly, "but no need for an ER visit tonight as long as she's breathing okay when she's calm." Several minutes passed with the only sound coming from Maria twirling about the hills of Austria. Lila gave only an occasional cough now.

"Sorry about how my mom acted toward you," Laura said softly. "She's a good person but a little protective."

"No need to apologize."

"So how much of our argument did you overhear?"

Natasha shrugged apologetically, but Laura laughed.

"We weren't exactly being subtle, and you are a spy." She sighed and adjusted Lila's position in her arms. "She and my dad split when I was in high school. He was—pretty unfaithful, so she's touchy about that sort of thing, and she really doesn't trust new people."

"We have that in common," Natasha shot Laura a small smirk.

"I know this family dynamic is —_unconventional_—but I truly wouldn't have it any other way. I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate everything you do for all of us." Laura smiled genuinely, stroking Lila's hair. She was starting to fall asleep again as a group of nuns onscreen sang in the background.

"No need for thanks. You are the closest thing to a family I've ever had," Natasha said, her matter-of-fact tone sending a pang through Laura. It was one of those brutally honest things that Natasha sometimes said that was meant to express happiness or be taken as a compliment, but the implications of which broke Laura's heart.

She still remembered with painful clarity a conversation they'd had last year, just before Natasha had gone undercover as an assistant to Tony Stark. His reputation as a playboy and womanizer was widely known, and she had not been thrilled to overhear Natasha scheduling a lingerie photo shoot to "build her cover" for the operation. After she had hung up the phone, Laura approached, taking a seat next to her on the steps of the back porch.

"Hope SHIELD leaves plenty of time for digital retouching," Natasha said with an eyebrow raised, gesturing to her left side. The scar there was still pink and puckered, the injury only 3 months old at that time.

"Listen, Nat," Laura started, unsure how to phrase her concern without Natasha interpreting it as a weakness. "I know you feel you owe SHIELD, but if they ask you to do anything too _uncomfortable_," she laid a delicate stress on the word and decided it sounded wrong. She tried again. "If they ask you to do something inappropriate, or too intimate—"

Natasha had looked up at her, expression unreadable, but Laura could tell she understood her meaning. There was understanding in her green eyes as they searched Laura's. She kept her expression neutral and shook her head a fraction.

"No, it's SHIELD," Natasha had said, "They don't make me do that sort of thing."

References to the Red Room had remained unstated, but Laura quickly swallowed the lump rising in her throat at the implication.

Now, sitting in the cool night air on the front porch and keeping vigil over an ill child, Laura reached her right hand from where it had been resting on Lila's back over to Natasha. She found her left hand and squeezed.

"I meant what I said to my mother," she said quietly. "You are a member of our family."

They sat like that for over an hour, until Laura was yawning mightily and consistently dozing off, fighting sleep for the sake of her child. Lila remained asleep in her arms, no further coughing fits, but starting to stir and fuss every time Natasha tried to stop the movie.

"You need to get some sleep," Natasha said quietly, standing to stretch and starting for the door. "I'll go wake Clint so you can trade off." Laura shook her head, straightening in her seat.

"No, I'll do it," Laura said. "Here, take her for a minute —" She gestured for Natasha to come closer, but Natasha's eyes widened slightly and she shook her head.

"I'm not sure—" she started to say

"Nat, it's okay. We trust you, and besides, it's only going to be a minute." Before Natasha could argue, Laura was shifting Lila's weight into Natasha's arms. Sensing the change, Lila fussed briefly before she found the crook of Natasha's neck and nuzzled into it, small legs wrapping around her waist and arms around her neck. Laura draped her blanket over the two of them.

"Wait, Laura, what if—"

"Nothing is going to happen," she said much more confidently than Natasha felt. "My cell is on just in case, and Clint will be down in a minute." With that, she kissed Lila's temple and turned back into the house. The screen door clapped against the doorframe as Laura disappeared up the stairs. Natasha was left alone on the porch with Lila still clinging to her.

Unsure what else to do, she started to pace across the porch, but without warning Lila woke in a fit of coughing. Imitating Laura's movements from before, she rubbed Lila's back in a circular motion and turned up the laptop volume. The sound of the Von Trapp family singers performing _Edelweiss_ drifted from the speakers but did nothing to calm the little girl down.

"Shh, shh, your dad will be here soon," she soothed, sitting back on the swing and hoping the rocking motion would help. "_Bayushki bayu, bayushki bayu._" The Russian words came to her lips without thought, a nonsense phrase used to calm babies, which Natasha repeated set to the tune of a lullaby she knew from childhood. Lila gazed at her with heavy eyes, her coughing becoming less severe.

"Keep singing?" Lila asked in a small and sleepy voice. Natasha smoothed the stray hairs out of the girl's face.

"I don't know any lullabies in English, little one."

"Please, Auntie Nat," she pleaded. Natasha looked into her weary little face, where the tears had not dried on her flushed cheeks and her voice was still hoarse, and found she couldn't refuse. She sighed and reached for the words of a lullaby from deep in her past.

"_Sleep, my joy, sleep; the lights went out in the house; the birds quieted in the garden, and fish fell asleep in the pond_," she crooned softly, the Russian words coming back to her easily. She reached with her foot and pushed her laptop closed, cutting off the extra noise. Lila gave a cough and then settled, curling into Natasha's chest, her head settling between her collarbone and jaw. "_The moon shines in the sky, the moon peeks into the window; now close your eyes and sleep, my joy, sleep."_

Lila's breathing was deeper and slower now. Soft footsteps approached and Natasha saw Clint stepping onto the porch out of the corner of his eye. She pieced together another stanza in her mind and continued to sing.

"_Sweetly, my little bird flies where there is no anxiety or trouble; now close your eyes and sleep, myshka, sleep_." Clint took Laura's vacated seat on the swing as lightly as he could, so as not to disturb Lila, who appeared to be close to sleep. Natasha met Clint's eyes and was puzzled by the expression in them, a mixture of relief, gratitude, surprise, and pity? She could not be sure of the last one. She hummed the tune wordlessly for two more rounds before allowing her voice to trail off. The two of them waited several moments, but Lila did not stir.

"She doing okay?"

"A long as she is calm," she told him, careful not to move a muscle.

"You were singing." The surprise in his voice was unconcealed.

"She asked," Natasha said simply.

Clint folded his arms across his chest and smiled in awe at his partner and friend. She had come so very far from the day he first located her and disobeyed his orders. Aside from (maybe) Coulson, nobody at SHIELD would ever guess that this tough-as-nails, fearless master assassin now sat holding and singing to his little girl with the kind of tenderness that she never recalled receiving herself.

"You're smirking."

"You've gotten soft, Romanoff," he joked softly.

She supposed he might be right, but she didn't quite see it that way. Her relationship with the Bartons had introduced a source of weakness, maybe, but also helped her to find a strength she never knew she could have.

Natasha had been trained to be a fighter; it was nice to have something in her life that was worth the fight.

* * *

Let me know what you think; as always, I would appreciate reviews, favorites, and follows.

The next chapter will be out in a week or so and take place after the events of The Avengers, so stay tuned!


	5. Chapter 5

Hey all! Happy June!

A friend pointed out that I accidentally posted the older draft version of chapter 3 (Fall 2011, part 1). The only difference is what happened with Dreykov's daughter, but nothing else is changed.

Spoilers are true to the timeline, and this story takes place after the events of the Avengers. As always, there are no flashes to the future.

As always, thank you so much for your kind reviews. I try to update as much as possible, and striking the balance of writing fast and sticking to the quality that I prefer in addition to a full time job sometimes means slower updates than all of you would like. Thanks for your patience and for sticking with it.

DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

* * *

Summer 2012 — Part I

* * *

"We're on the descent," Clint called into the rear of the aircraft from where he sat in the pilot's seat. Natasha made her way back to the cockpit and slid into the co-pilot seat, buckling her seatbelt and looking out the window to the patchwork of greens and yellows of the countryside below.

They had been allowed to requisition one of the Quinjets for the trip back to the Bartons' home following the Battle of New York. Natasha suspected this had something to do with the fact that Clint's mind control experience at the hands of an Asgardian scepter combined with the loss of his friend and mentor had earned him a nice chunk of time off, a medical leave that nobody was actually calling "medical leave."

Officially, Natasha had build up quite a few vacation days and wanted to take some time out of the city. It was well known at this point in their partnership that Agents Barton and Romanoff frequently chose to coordinate their time off. This combined with the ease of their interactions and comfort with one another only fueled the whispering among those who knew them at SHIELD that the two were a couple. Both had initially tried to stomp out those little fires; it seemed inappropriate in the context of their professional relationship. It hadn't been long before the little fires coalesced into a roaring blaze of rumor with a life of its own.

At this point, both had learned to shrug off the jibes and comments from the other agents. Clint thought the rumors were working out well for him, because as long as people thought he and Natasha were an item, there wasn't much threat of anyone sniffing too closely into his family life. Natasha never put much stock in gossip to begin with, but she thought if an alleged romance with Clint was the thing people chose to talk about despite the other fodder available from her past, she would consider that a win. Laura pointed out once that playing along with the gossip might become an issue if Natasha ever decided to date, but she had not shown any interest so far and decided to cross that bridge if she came to it.

No, the real reason why she was accompanying Clint home now was because he had asked her to. The plea in his eyes when he'd asked had concerned her so much that denying the request had not been an option.

Loki's mind control had really done a number on him. He had felt so intruded upon, so violated, and so manipulated that he did not trust his mind was really his anymore. After Thor had flown back to Asgard with Loki and the scepter, Clint and Natasha had taken the SHIELD Jeep back to the New York office for a debriefing followed by several well-deserved drinks in a seedy bar several blocks away. A couple of glasses of scotch into the evening, Clint had confided in Natasha that he wanted to go home to his family but that he didn't trust his own brain. With the level of manipulation he'd been subjected to, Natasha couldn't blame him. She knew, perhaps better than anyone else in his life, what it was like to be forcibly undone and then remade into something unfamiliar. After a brief phone call to Laura the following morning, she had packed a bag and was now seated on the quinjet next to Clint as the craft lowered into a grove of tall trees well out of view from any neighboring homes or roads.

The jet's engine whined when Clint powered it down and both stood to gather their belongings. Before the cargo door opened for them to exit, Natasha caught Clint's forearm when he tried to walk past her. He stopped and their eyes met. She was unsettled by the amount of vulnerability she could see in his blue eyes; it was so unlike him.

"You're okay," she told him. It wasn't a question. She saw his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed nervously.

"Yeah," he said unconvincingly.

"You are," she said as she released his forearm. "If you start to feel off at all, just let me or Laura know, okay?" Clint nodded after only a moment.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

The bright June sunshine and humid Missouri air hit them as they left the jet and Natasha was grateful for a bit of down time in such beautiful weather. She and Clint slung their bags over their shoulders and made their way through a thicket of trees surrounding their makeshift parking space, emerging on the other side a hundred yards from the house. Natasha couldn't help feeling a renewed sense of well-being seeing the weathered clapboard farmhouse, but when she turned to smile at Clint she noticed his facial expression was tight. She transferred her bag to her right hand and slid her left around her partner's waist. He didn't need physical support, but her arm around him kept him going forward, kept him grounded, and reassured him that she had come with him for a reason. She had his back.

When Laura and the kids appeared on the front porch, the kids shouting happily and racing out to meet them, Clint's expression relaxed and he beamed. Hugs, kisses, greetings, and exclamations of "how big you've gotten!" and "you cut your hair!" were exchanged and soon the four of them were clamoring up the front porch steps toward Laura.

"Hi, honey," Clint said with a nervous smile. Laura beamed, holding his face in her hands and kissing his lips gently before he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. The kids "ewwww"-ed and they pulled apart, Laura's hand on Clint's cheek. She could see the trauma behind his eyes. Even though Natasha had told her about the mind control and its aftereffects, Laura couldn't help hurting for her husband anew at his expression.

Natasha started to follow Clint, Lila, and Cooper into the house when Laura gently caught her arm and held her back. She stopped on the porch, the screen door clapping between them and the others. The kids continued to chatter happily and climb all over their father, not noticing.

"Hey," Laura said without preamble. "It's bad, right?" Natasha looked into her friend's concerned brown eyes and found she did not have the heart to lie to her.

"He's through the worst of it," she said quietly. "But it's going to take time. Losing Coulson was especially hard on him."

"Coulson is dead?" Laura gasped quietly, bringing her hand to her mouth. Natasha nodded. "Clint didn't—" she started, but found herself unable to finish the thought aloud.

"No, that was Loki," she said simply, the subtlest tremor in her voice. "But Clint blames himself." Laura looked aghast.

"Oh my God," she said.

They stood in silence for a few moments, two tears sliding down Laura's cheeks at the new information. She brushed them away with her fingertips.

"How—" Laura started, glancing apprehensively at her husband playing with their kids. "What's the best way to help? What should I look out for? I just—when do I need to be concerned?"

"Just be yourself. He needs his family now. He asked me to stay for a few days, so I'll be down the hall if you need me." A loud giggle from Lila sounded from the living room and they looked up for a few moments, watching Clint interact with the kids as though nothing was wrong. Natasha rested her hand gently on Laura's shoulder. "He's going to be okay, Laura, it will just take a little time."

"Thanks, Nat." Laura reached up to put her hand over Natasha's and gave it a small squeeze. Then she turned, held the door open for her, and followed her through the door. "By the way, I like the new haircut. It suits you." The women shared a smile.

Cooper and Lila begged to have a "bonfire party to celebrate Daddy and Auntie Nat coming home," so dusk found them in the expansive yard roasting hot dogs and making s'mores. It was long past the kids' usual bedtimes, but as Laura had said, it was a special occasion. There was a very fine mist of unease that hung over the scene, but the kids did not seem to notice at all, dancing around and shouting happily with their usual enthusiasm. Lila nearly fell asleep with a gooey s'more in her hand, coming dangerously close to a marshmallow-in-hair situation, before Laura called it a night and began to shepherd the kids up to bed.

"We want Daddy!" Cooper protested. Natasha and Laura looked toward Clint just quickly enough to catch a fleeting hint of trepidation in his face. It was clear to Natasha that he did not fully trust himself around the kids alone; the reality of how deep Loki's mind control had reached brought a lump to her throat. She quickly swallowed it down and summoned a smile to her face.

"How about a two-for-one? Your dad and I will both come tuck you in, okay?" Natasha said, and Cooper whooped with delight. She stood and grasped Clint's shoulder in a subtle commandment to stand. She would not let him skirt around his fears forever, she knew better than most how little that would help in the long run. Natasha met Laura's eyes and read sadness and apprehension in her expression, but gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Laura nodded at her.

"Okay, but only one bedtime story," Laura said, then added firmly, "—and if you tell them a single one about Baba Yaga, I am sending them directly to your room when they have nightmares about it." Natasha grimaced and Clint laughed in spite of himself.

"Don't worry, I learned my lesson the last time," she said, taking Lila's hand for the walk back to the house. On her previous visit, she had misjudged the age-appropriateness of a tale centered on the Baba Yaga, a wild witch full of dark magic who was prominent in Russian folklore, with the result that both kids had wound up flinging themselves with fright into Clint and Laura's bed later in the evening.

"I'm not scared," Cooper said boldly, leading the way up to the house. "I'm six now. I'm not scared of anything."

"_Bratik_, you were six when you heard the story the last time," she couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice. "I'm with your mom on this one."

Bath and bedtimes went smoothly, much to Clint's surprise. He was reassured that Natasha was standing by, able to step in if any residual effects of the mind control emerged. His wife was certainly the more comforting presence, but Natasha could physically overpower him if necessary. He hated that it even needed to be a consideration.

Once both kids were tucked into their own beds, stories told and lights out, Clint and Natasha made their way back down the stairs. They passed through the kitchen refrigerator for three bottles of beer before heading back out to the fire where Laura was still seated, gazing into the blaze. She gratefully accepted the bottle her husband handed to her.

"I can't believe you both got to work with Captain America _and _the Hulk," Laura said, taking a swig from her bottle. "That's crazy. What was it like?"

"Terrifying," Natasha said, recalling running for her life from a fully transformed Hulk on the helicarrier. Clint and Laura frowned at her. "Banner is fine. Seems nice, actually, genius intelligence like Stark but without the ego. But the Hulk is all rage."

"Seriously. Hulk and Banner are completely opposite. Hulk is a big dumb rage-monster, but he was really helpful when we were fighting the Chitauri in New York. He's definitely grown on me," Clint said.

"You weren't the one he was chasing down on the helicarrier," Natasha muttered.

"Banner seems like a good guy. He may hate fighting but he transformed willingly to help in New York."

"Huh," Laura said. "I just imagined Dr. Banner would be… angrier all the time."

"Says he is," Natasha shrugged. "Just deals with it so he can avoid transforming when he doesn't want to. Banner's got a lot of self-loathing pent up for playing with Gamma radiation."

"How do you know that?" Clint asked.

"He told me on the flight when I retrieved him from Calcutta. Didn't use those words exactly, but that's the general idea."

"What about Steve Rogers?" Laura asked. Clint shrugged, taking another swig from his bottle.

"He's a good guy. Team player, good leader, knows how to motivate, solid fighter." Natasha nodded in agreement.

"You left out 'incredibly good looking,'" Laura said, throwing a teasing grin at Clint. "Any potential there, Nat? You've definitely got a shot with him."

"Yeah, but does _he_ have a shot with _her_?" Clint asked, chuckling. Natasha threw Clint an appreciative look.

"Not my type," she said simply.

"Speaking of men who aren't your type, how's Stark?" Laura asked. Clint snorted into his beer with laughter and Natasha rolled her eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Same as ever," she said. In truth, Stark had surprised all of them when he guided that missile out of the portal, risking his life to save Manhattan. His actions were ultimately consistent with the first assessment she'd conducted for Fury regarding participation in the Avenger initiative: Iron Man, yes; Tony Stark, no.

A comfortable silence fell between them with only the sounds of the calming fire for punctuation. Clint and Laura intertwined their fingers. Several minutes passed with them drinking from their bottles and looking into the fire before Clint broke the silence by clearing his throat.

"So, Friday is coming up soon," Clint said, arching an eyebrow meaningfully. Natasha knew full well what he was getting at but couldn't resist a jibe.

"That is how the days of the week tend to work," she said. Laura chuckled.

"Come on, Nat, you know what he means," Laura said, finishing her beer and setting down the bottle. "Did you have anything special in mind for your birthday this year?"

"Being alive to see it," she said with sincerity hiding behind her casual smirk. Clint leaned forward and clinked the neck of his bottle with hers. It was a running bit the two of them usually shared, the same answer she gave each year since they had known each other whenever he asked her that question. Laura had never asked it before, and now that she was looking at Natasha with her eyes narrowed and a flicker of pity behind them, Natasha regretted giving the answer.

When she'd first come to SHIELD, it had come as no surprise to Clint that Natasha did not know her own birthday. She knew she was born in 1984 because it was listed in her records from the orphanage. However, as part of the Red Room program, Natasha's original birth certificate had been destroyed and a new one fabricated when she was initially enrolled there. As with all of the other girls, her birthday had been listed as January 1. She had no particular feelings toward that day, and in fact was indifferent to having a unique birthday at all. It had originally been Coulson's idea for her to choose a different day, and Clint had encouraged it.

So she had. Logically, she had wanted that fell near the middle of the year; if she hadn't known when in the year she should celebrate, estimating sometime midyear couldn't be terribly far off. Natasha had chosen June 29, the day she was officially cleared by the SHIELD physicians and psychologists as being free from the effects of the Red Room's brainwashing, when she knew her mind was truly her own. She had never really been one for nostalgia or sentimentality, but it had felt right.

"Seriously," Clint said lightly, lifting the mood. "It's supposed to storm all weekend, but Friday should be beautiful weather. The kids are off school, there will be plenty of tourists to blend in with, so we were thinking—" he glanced at Laura, who smiled and nodded, "—of taking the boat out to the lake, making a day of it."

After the past few months that she'd had, and the hellish past couple of weeks at SHIELD, that sounded wonderful to Natasha. She told them so, and they smiled at each other genuinely.

"But no fanfare," she added quickly. "No cake, candles, singing, —"

"Oh, come on, Nat," Laura protested. "It's a birthday party."

"No," she said. Natasha was a spy, after all. The spotlight had never been a place she wanted to be, even for something as small as this.

"You are no fun," Laura accused. Natasha lifted her hands in mock surrender

"I never said that I was."

They finished half a dozen bottles of beer between them before the fire burned itself down to glowing embers and they decided to turn in for the night. When Laura took Clint's hand to lead him upstairs for the evening, he looked at her with a flicker of fear in his eyes.

He was afraid of hurting Laura. Natasha sighed inaudibly.

"I'll be right down here," she said evenly, looking between them. Laura gave Clint a gentle smile.

"Come on, honey," she soothed, and he turned to follow his wife upstairs.

Later, as he was lying in bed next to his wife, Clint thought he felt a shift in the air outside their open bedroom door. He had probably imagined it, but reassured that Natasha was close by, he draped his arm over Laura's waist and allowed himself to relax into sleep.

* * *

Natasha was startled awake. She was almost never startled awake.

Her eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright, reflexively pulling out and cocking the gun she kept at her bedside and aiming straight in front of her.

"Shit, Clint," she said, lowering the gun several inches. Should have known, she thought, he was the only one who could creep into a room quietly enough to avoid waking her. His silhouette was clearly visible in front of her, features cast into shadow, but she could tell his hair was tousled and his arms hung at his sides. She switched on the bedside lamp and Clint's features were illuminated.

Clint's face was lined deeply and his forehead wrinkled in distress. The little crease that appeared between his eyes only under significant duress was visible. He was dressed in an undershirt and sweatpants, the faint stubble of facial hair from not having shaved accentuated the shadows over his face. He opened and closed his mouth subtly a few times, appearing to search for words.

"Talk to me," Natasha commanded in a voice that was both soft and firm, slowly standing to face him. He grasped his head with his hands and began to pace, eyes staring without seeing. She remained still

"I can't shake him loose," he said. "I can't—"

"Loki?"

"The wires in my brain are all knotted up, I can't put them right," he mumbled. "I keep seeing things, can't tell if they are nightmares or memories."

His eyes were wild with a frenzy of emotion, and Natasha was alarmed by it. Slowly, she stood, lowered her gun the rest of the way, and approached her partner, careful not to touch him or make any sudden movements. She had never seen him this state; he looked almost demented.

"Clint," she said slowly and deliberately. "You've got to take a breath, level out."

"Level out?" He growled, incensed by the words. "I've been trying to _level out_, but it's a little tough with a goddamned mind controlling alien in my brain."

Natasha had never seen him so frenzied before; even when he was actively under Loki's mind control, he'd been calm, collected, and rational in his actions. It was unsettling.

"Let's go to the barn," she said in an even voice. Wordlessly he followed, at her side and half a pace behind her. They passed through the kitchen and Natasha saw the digital clock on the microwave blinking 2:26 AM. They crossed the yard, the nighttime summer air cooler but still heavy, to one of the side entrances of the barn. A heavy combination lock hung on the door and she deftly dialed the combination, yanked the padlock open, and pushed open the door with a loud creak. Clint walked into the darkness and switched on the light.

Clint had built this makeshift training room a couple of years prior, after Natasha had become a regular visitor to the Barton household during the period of time when her visits were typically preceded by some kind of injury. He had always wanted a real home gym, and having a regular sparring partner around gave him the motivation for finally put it together. It was pretty basic as training areas went, with just a large and heavy mat in the center of the floor, dimly lit with a single fluorescent light fixture mounted in the center of the high wooden ceiling. There was a rack of weights in the corner that Laura spotted at a rummage sale, a peg containing a couple of jump ropes, and a TRX system that Natasha had given him for his birthday several months back.

Both removed their shoes and after a brief warm-up they crossed to the center of the mat. Natasha was still dressed in the shorts and tank top she had been sleeping in. The overhead light cast much of Clint's face into shadow, but Natasha could still see the tension in his face. He needed to relieve the physical stress, but was reluctant to make the first move. She initiated the fight instead.

They sparred for several rounds, the only sounds the thudding and slapping as blows were landed and blocked, soft grunts of exertion, bodies smacking the mat when one threw the other down or off balance. Natasha channeled her own excess stress into the fight as well. The immense strain of Clint's kidnapping and mind control, the fright of being hunted on the helicarrier by a fully transformed Hulk, Loki's words ripping off every emotional scab and allowing those tortures to bleed afresh, and most of all the heartache and grief of losing Coulson.

Eventually, both were sweating from effort and panting with exhaustion. Clint was the first to give the hand signal ending the sparring match and he collapsed onto the mat. Natasha gave him a moment to himself before crossing over to him and kneeling on the floor in front of where he sat. She noticed tears mingled with the sweat on his face.

After several minutes, he lifted his face to meet her eyes. She saw that his pupils were large as saucers and brimming with anguish.

"Everything came rushing back," he said without preamble. "All those agents, the civilian casualties, Coulson—" he broke off, as if he had forced himself to stop talking, and without the words to continue he brought his hand down hard on the mat. He took a breath and swallowed hard. "All of the stuff I told him about you." Natasha continued to meet his eyes in silence, but she gave a small empathetic nod. "Killing you was part of the mission," he admitted, the edges of his voice trembling so subtly that if Natasha hadn't known him so well, she might have missed it.

"I know," she said quietly, meeting his eyes, which widened in surprise.

"How—"

"Loki told me while I was interrogating him." Clint nodded, and she saw him swallow hard before hanging his head.

"I can't stop thinking about the stuff he put in my head, all the ways he wanted me to tear you apart."

"I know." Natasha inched in his direction.

"If you know what he wanted me to do to you," he said, looking defeated and exhausted, "How in the hell can you stand to be around me?"

"Because you're _you_ now," she said. She continued to move slowly and deliberately toward him, still kneeling, until she was close enough to reach out and gently slide her hand around the back of his neck. Natasha gently but firmly guided his head up, compelling him to look into her face. "Loki and the scepter are gone. They can't control you anymore. Your thoughts and actions are completely your own."

"How can you be so sure?" Clint asked as he looked into her eyes. She had never seen so much vulnerability exposed in him before and it was unnerving. She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Because I asked Thor, you idiot. Had to," she told him, a faint smirk creeping onto her face. She held his eyes firmly with hers and removed her hand from the back of his neck. "Do you think that I would have let you come back to this house if I thought you were a threat to anyone in it?"

Clint stared at her for several seconds. The implications of her words turned in his mind until, at last, he shook his head.

"No."

In the silence that stretched between them, a twig snapped outside the open door. Natasha had a sneaking suspicion that Laura had followed them to the barn out of concern. Clint didn't seem to have noticed. Good.

She stood and offered a hand to him. Clint took it and they grasped wrists without hesitation, allowing her to help pull him to his feet. He pulled her into a hug and she patted his back a little awkwardly in a wordless exchange of emotion. After several moments, they pulled apart.

"Come on, let's get back to bed. You are exhausting," Natasha said, playfully bumping his arm with hers. He gave her a small but genuine smile before they turned and left the barn side-by-side for the walk back to the main house. There was no sign of anybody else in the yard.

Back in the main hall, they parted ways and Natasha went back to her room for a shower while Clint crept up the stairs toward his room, careful to tread lightly. He did not want to wake the kids or Laura. He slipped into his room, kicked off his trousers and pulled his shirt over his head before crawling into bed beside Laura. She turned to face him in bed, far more alert than was normal for having just woken up.

"Who won?" she asked. Clint didn't answer for several seconds. "You were sparring with Nat. You smell like sweat. So who won?" she asked again.

"Depends on how you measure."

"So, Nat." It was a statement rather than a question. Laura propped herself up on one elbow, looking wide awake, and pushed a tousled lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," he said. He reached for her and put his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

For the first time since the mind control had been broken, he was able to truly relax.

* * *

Natasha kept a close eye on Clint for the ensuing few days, but he gave her no reason to worry. It seemed that the hard sparring session, an honest talk, and a good night's sleep had been the salve he needed to come back to himself.

School was out for the summer for Cooper and Lila was now old enough to enroll in summer activities for preschoolers, so although Laura valued free play she also was a proponent of programs with structure. She sometimes referred to these engagements as "Mommy's sanity time," because although she still went with her kids when Clint was working, she could generally sit on the sidelines with a book. When Natasha volunteered to shepherd the kids around a bit that week, Laura was grateful for the reprieve.

"You sure, Nat? They can be a handful," she said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice and sitting at the kitchen table across from Natasha.

"Absolutely, it's no trouble," she said. Natasha finished the last bite of her muesli and picked up her coffee cup. "Besides, it would be good for the two of you to have some—_alone time_." She made eyes at Laura over the rim of her coffee cup and Laura laughed at her friend's expression, unable to stop a blush from rising to her cheeks at the implication.

"We'll see what he thinks. He really hasn't been alone with any of us since getting back from New York. I think he's still pretty nervous."

"He has no reason to be. I haven't seen anything concerning out of him for a couple days." Natasha set her coffee cup down, a small frown on her face. "Are _you_ okay with it?"

"Of course," Laura told her honestly. "I'm with you. I know my husband, and I trust your assessment of him. The question is whether he does."

Clint had been a little hesitant at the mention of the idea and agreed only after Natasha promised to keep her cell phone on the entire time. So Clint and Laura had slathered the kids with sunscreen and wrangled them into their swimsuits for their lessons at the community pool. Natasha changed into her own suit and gathered her things before loading the kids' supplies into the trunk, helping Clint and Laura strap them into their booster seats, and waving goodbye. She noted a trace of apprehension in her partner's face before he put his arm around Laura's waist and turned to go back into the house.

Her attention was quickly drawn back to the kids when Cooper whooped loudly from the backseat.

"WOOOHOOOOO! NO PARENTS!" he cheered, and Lila clapped and shouted happily beside him. Natasha couldn't help but laugh with them.

They arrived at the aquatic center with little time to spare and Cooper guided her toward one of the two smaller swimming pools where his own group swim class would meet. He dug his goggles and towel out of the bag and skipped over to greet his swim teacher, a college-aged lifeguard with dark skin and closely cropped hair.

"Cooper," she called him back and he came back. He made a face when Natasha held a pair of swim shoes out to him. "Put your shoes on please."

"Awww, do I have to? I don't like those. They make my feet heavy." Even as he grumbled, he was reaching for the shoes. Lila was already working hard to tug her own swim shoes onto her feet.

"Yes, mom's rules."

"But she's not here."

"Mom's still the boss, even if she's not standing here," she said firmly but gently. Cooper was already sitting down to pull the shoes on.

"Okay, done," he declared, showing her his feet. "Can I go now?"

"Yes," Natasha nodded. "If you need anything, I'll be right over there with your sister." But Cooper was already making his way excitedly back to his swim teacher and the half dozen kids who had assembled at the side of the pool. She then took Lila's hand with one of hers and lifted the bag of swimming gear over her shoulder with the other. Lila more dragged than led her over to one of the smaller pools where 4 other small children were gathered with their parents. They found the instructor, another lifeguard with a long, white-blond ponytail and a tan so deep it did not match the rest of her complexion.

"Hi, Miss Abby!" she said as Natasha set her bag down at the feet of a nearby lounge chair.

"Good morning, Lila," the lifeguard smiled through her sunglasses. "And who did you bring with you today?"

"My Auntie Nat," Lila said, standing up straight and looking up at Natasha with a wide smile. The two women shook hands.

"Natalie Rushman," she told the young woman.

"Abby Johnson, nice to meet you," she said. "Might want to change, class starts soon." Lila eagerly pulled off the t-shirt and shorts she wore over her swimsuit and stuffed the clothes into their large tote bag and Natasha did the same, neatly folding her trousers and top and tucking them into the bag as well. Because Lila was still a beginner, the class required a supervising adult to be in the water with her at all times. She tugged at her conservative black Speedo suit; there were a couple of residual cuts and bruises left over from fights with Loki, Clint, and the Battle of New York that she was not interested in discussing with a group of nosy swim moms.

"Come on, Auntie Nat, let's go!" She looked at Lila and tucked a stray piece of her dark hair into the bun at the back of her head. The little girl was pulling at her arm with surprising strength and it was clear she was eager to get into the water. One strap of her electric blue swimsuit was twisted. Natasha adjusted it so the strap lay flat on her shoulder before they both sat at the edge of the pool as instructed.

Her job was basically support and guide Lila, floats strapped to her back and hands gripping a foam board, as she kicked around the shallow parts of the pool. It was easy, and she was able to largely avoid small talk with the other adults, which suited her just fine. The longer the swim lesson went, the less Natasha worried about Laura and Clint. Her smart watch would buzz if she got a phone call, but there wasn't a hint of movement from it so far. She wasn't expecting anything, but was still on alert as promised.

Soon the 30 min lessons were over and both kids were begging to continue playing in the pool with their friends. Natasha could not think of a reason why not and found herself toting their large bag of belongings over to the shallower pool. Even through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, the bright sunlight reflected off of the ripples in the clear blue water of the swimming pool. She was grateful to have been liberal with her sunscreen use before leaving the house.

There were plenty of lifeguards on duty but Natasha knew from experience how little it took for even a child taking swim lessons to drown, so she kept on high alert. Her eyes flicked from Cooper, who was racing two of his friends using the breast stroke, to Lila, who stood with another little girl in water that came up to her waist and batted a ball back and forth. Between looking out for her two charges, she glanced around at the others in the pool on alert for danger. She was so focused on the people in the pool that she sensed rather than saw the figure approaching from the side.

"Hey there," said a man's voice from beside her. He sat at the edge of the pool two feet away from her. She continued looking ahead silently, which he took as a cue to continue. "I haven't seen you around here before."

Natasha peered over at him. He appeared to be Clint's age with a slim but athletic build and blonde hair cropped so close to his head that he looked bald at first glance. She recognized the man as one of the parents who'd participated in Lila's swim lesson earlier. She remained silent and looked back at Cooper and Lila in the pool.

"You were at the swim lesson earlier with me and my kid. I'm Dan Paulson. Are you nannying for the Bartons?"

"Something like that," she said. Lila and her friend were still tossing the ball, and Cooper and the other 6-year-olds had started climbing out of the pool and taking turns jumping back in with shouts of 'cannonball!'

"Got a name?"

"Yes," Natasha said simply. There were several beats of silence.

"So? You're keeping me in suspense here, what is it?"

"Natalie," she said. The man, Dan, started to say something else, but then the little girl Lila was playing with called out to him.

"Daddy, can we get lunch? I'm hungry," she said, making her way over to where the two adults sat.

"Sure thing, kiddo," he said. He lifted his daughter, a girl taller than Lila with hair cut in a bob, out of the water with ease. Lila followed close behind and climbed out of the pool awkwardly but independently, water dripping onto Natasha as she climbed into her lap.

"Bye Katie," Lila said, waving.

"Bye."

"See you around," Dan said to Natasha with an impish grin.

"Doubt it," she said, waving at him with only the fingers of her right hand.

After swimming until their fingers were marked by deep wrinkles, Natasha wrangled both kids and herself into dry clothes and back into their seats in the car. Cooper talked her into stopping for ice cream—it had not taken much convincing, all he'd needed to do was say 'please' in Russian—and they sat at one of the old wooden picnic tables outside of the tiny ice cream stand to eat them.

"_Bol'shoye spasiba_!" Cooper and Lila chorused. Natasha couldn't help smiling at them, Cooper's brown hair sticking out at odd angles from the pool, chocolate ice cream all around Lila's mouth. They were both grinning triumphantly at her.

"_Pozhaluysta_. You have been practicing," she said, pleased. Cooper had taken an interest in Russian earlier in the year after he'd learned that Natasha's pet names for him and Lila weren't just made-up words. The idea of a "secret language" had fascinated him, so every time she video-chatted with Laura or the kids while she was away, Cooper had asked her to teach him more. Lila, who had cried at the idea of being left out, was also included. She'd started with some simple words and phrases and both kids picked everything up remarkably fast.

"Yep!" Lila said proudly. Cooper nodded in agreement.

"I like when you're here because it gets boring just practicing with Lila all the time," he said. Lila stuck her tongue out at him in response.

"Will you tell us a new word?" Lila asked as Cooper slurped his ice cream cone loudly. Natasha thought for a moment.

"When we get back and your mom and dad ask us how swim lessons went, you can say _prekrasno_. It means 'awesome.'"

"PREKRASNO!" Cooper shouted. Lila giggled. The couple who had just arrived at the Mister Softee turned and started at them for a moment.

"Very good," Natasha said approvingly.

"Something else, something else!" Cooper chanted. Natasha had to hide a smile, looking at him with mock scrutiny.

"Hmm, are you sure you are ready for something harder?"

"Yes!" Cooper and Lila both said excitedly.

"Something really hard?"

"YES!" Cooper was actually squirming in his seat with delight.

"Okay. How about a rhyme about a buzzing beetle," she said. "This was one of my favorites when I was a little girl." Before the Red Room, Natasha thought. She cleared her throat and pronounced each syllable slowly and carefully for Cooper and Lila.

"_Zhyuk zhyu-zheet nat aba-zhura, zhyu-zheet zhyu-zhye-leet-sa, zhyu-zheet kru-zheet-sa_." She repeated it, faster, and both kids laughed and begged her to say it over and over. After 10 minutes, both were rattling off the tongue twister about a buzzing beetle that neither could really understand but that they had fun saying. They dissolved into fits of giggles and even Natasha grinned at the silliness of it all.

"Come on," she said eventually, as Lila and Cooper both continued to alternately practice the tongue twister and laugh their little heads off. "Your parents will be wondering what we're up to." She sent a text to Clint and Laura before helping strap the kids back into the car and drive back to the house. When they pulled into the driveway, she saw Clint and Laura on the porch swing, holding hands, waiting for them.

Cooper and Lila thundered up the stairs toward their parents with Natasha following close behind.

"Hey, guys, how was swimming?" Clint asked.

"_Prekrasno!_" Lila and Cooper shouted at the same time, as if on cue. Natasha smirked.

"Oh, good, we're learning more Russian," Clint groaned. "Let's go inside and get some lunch, kiddos."

"We had lunch already," Lila said matter-of-factly. Clint and Laura looked at each other, eyebrow's raised.

"Oh really? What did you eat?"

"Ice cream," Cooper said with a grin. Clint chuckled.

"Well, I suppose you could use a sandwich to go with that ice cream, come on," he said, holding the door open for Lila and Cooper, who walked in front of him into the house. The door closed, leaving Natasha and Laura on the porch alone.

"Did you have a good _talk_?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised suggestively. A blush rose to Laura's cheeks and she shook her head.

"We just talked," Laura said, "but it was long overdue and we're in a good place. Thanks so much, Nat." She could hear the kids in the house demonstrating their new tongue twister for Clint, the zh-zh-zh sounds buzzing through the open screen door. Natasha smiled at her friend.

"Anytime."

* * *

That's a wrap for this part! Hopefully I'll have the next part up sometime this weekend.

Let me know what you think; as always, I would appreciate reviews, favorites, and follows.

Thanks all!


	6. Chapter 6

Happy Sunday!

All of the spoilers in this story are true to the timeline, and this story takes place after the events of the Avengers. There will be no flashes to the future.

As always, thank you so much for your kind reviews. I try to update as much as possible, and striking the balance of writing fast and sticking to the quality that I prefer in addition to a full time job sometimes means slower updates than all of you would like. It also doesn't help that I intended this story to be much shorter, but it's been so much more satisfying to delve a little deeper into the characters. Thanks for your patience and for sticking with it!

DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

* * *

Summer 2012—Part II

* * *

The time she spent at the Barton home always seemed to pass far too quickly for Natasha, and before she knew it Friday morning was dawning sunny and humid. She wandered into the kitchen at 7:00 to find a small bouquet of buttercups and daisies at her usual seat at the table and a colorful balloon tied to the back of the chair. A delicious savory aroma wafted through the room. Clint and Laura sat at the table already, mugs of coffee in hand, talking quietly to each other. The radio played the morning news in the background.

"Morning, birthday girl!" Clint said happily, rising to give her a hug. Laura was right behind him, embracing her and pressing a mug of hot coffee into her hands.

"Happy Birthday, Nat," she said.

"Thanks," Natasha replied, a small smile on her face. She sat at the table and set down her cup. "These are beautiful, but I clearly recall saying no fanfare."

"Well, _I _clearly recall you specifying no cake, candles, or singing." Clint said.

"I don't see any cake or candles," Laura chimed in.

"And I'm not going to punish you with my singing," Clint finished. The two of them gave her looks of feigned innocence. Natasha couldn't help a tiny grin from passing her lips even as she rolled her eyes at them. The news show continued to play over the radio while they drank their coffee.

"What smells so good?" Natasha asked.

"Quiche," Laura said. "The one with veggies from the garden that you said you liked a while back."

"I love that recipe," Natasha grinned, taking a deep drink of her coffee. "You really didn't need to go through the trouble."

Laura only smiled and shrugged it off. She had wanted to make the day special for her friend. It was the first time Natasha had spent her birthday at home with them, and Laura would have bet a large sum of money that Natasha's birthday had never been celebrated in a meaningful way before. Sure, Laura tried to call every year so that she and the kids could sing a badly off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday' and she always reminded Clint to at least say something in passing, but this was different. She could see the twinkle in Nat's green eyes as she brushed her fingertips against the petals of one of the daisies in front of her.

"Nonsense, I was happy to do it," Laura told her. "Anyway, it's your birthday, and you never said 'No quiche.'"

Both Lila and Cooper emerged from their bedrooms, tousle-haired and bright-eyed, shortly after breakfast had been served and Natasha was on her second cup of coffee. Lila climbed into Natasha's lap and gave her a tight hug while Cooper wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Happy Birthday!" The kids chorused in the same loud monotone in which a class of first-graders might say 'good morning' to their teacher.

"Thank you," Natasha said, a genuine smile on her face. The two kids settled into their own seats at the table, and Laura dished food onto plates for them while Clint poured glasses of milk for them.

A sensation of deep warmth ran through Natasha that made the base of her spine tingle. The gestures of kindness — the flowers, the balloon, the quiche — they were small but their meaning could not be overstated.

When the breakfast dishes were cleared away, Laura packed a cooler with sandwiches, drinks, and snacks while Natasha helped Clint to hitch the boat and trailer to his pickup. An hour later, supplies were loaded in the truck bed, the boat was towed in back, and all five of them were packed into the cab smelling strongly of sunscreen.

It turned out to be excellent weather, sunny but intermittently overcast. They got the boat into the water, left the car at the marina, donned life jackets, and puttered out to the middle of the lake. Laura had been the one to suggest the evening before that they bring the tow raft, so they spent the remainder of the morning taking turns hanging onto it, speeding along in the boat's wake until they were eventually thrown off or chose to let go. Even Lila was allowed to take her turn, Clint on the raft with her while Laura nervously drove the boat in a straight line at a slow crawl and Natasha sat perched on the back, ready to jump out at the first sign of trouble. Clint was a much less gentle driver when Natasha was on the raft; the two of them not-so-subtly took turns attempting to best each other much to the delight of the kids, who whooped and hollered supportively when one of them was in the water. When Laura took to the water, she demonstrated how to attach extended rope handholds and use the large grip pad at the back of the raft to stand up, a bit like waterskiing.

Clint steered the boat to a popular recreational beach and docked. He and Laura had been right, there were several families of tourists there as well as families that they knew. After a picnic lunch, the five of them settled their things onto a small stretch of the beach. Cooper found a schoolmate and ran off to play soccer, Laura stretched out to relax and read in the sun, and Natasha and Clint played paddle ball and built a sandcastle with Lila.

Before they knew it, it was time to pack up and head back home, and they returned to the house. Clint fired up the grill for burgers, corn on the cob, and veggie skewers and the five of them ate supper on the back patio as the sun sank lower in the sky. After the plates were cleared, Natasha chatted idly with Laura while Clint and the kids disappeared inside to get dessert.

When the three of them returned, Cooper was carrying what looked like a small cake with a single candle stuck in it, moving slowly and heavily supervised by Clint. The little boy's face was split into a wide grin, an expression mirrored on Lila's face. Natasha raised her eyebrows at Laura and Clint in turn.

"I thought we said no cake?" she said, trying to sound stern but a genuinely warm smile spreading across her face.

"It's not a cake, it's ice cream in the shape of cake. There's a difference," Cooper said matter-of-factly, setting the small platter down in front of Natasha and climbing onto the picnic table bench beside her. Lila climbed onto the bench on her other side. Laura lit the single candle atop the not-cake, which read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAT" in blue icing script. Both Cooper and Lila looked up at their mother, who nodded.

"Just like we practiced, on the count of three," she said softly. "One…two…three."

"_Sd'nyom Razhdeenyeh!_" the kids chorused, shouting each syllable carefully. Natasha's eyes widened in surprise.

"Thank you!" she said. "That was really good, you two!" She wrapped an arm around each child's shoulders and looked at them, pride shining in both sets of eyes and smiles on both little faces. "Who taught you that?"

"YouTube!" Cooper exclaimed. "Can we sing now?" He asked with wide, pleading eyes.

"Please?" Lila asked, mimicking her brother's expression. Natasha rolled her eyes sideways at Clint and Laura, who both smirked at her. They had guessed, correctly, that she wouldn't say no if the children asked.

"I'd love that," she said smoothly in resignation. There was a loud round of the birthday song sung by all four of the Bartons before the singing stopped and she smiled gratefully at all of them in spite of her pretense.

"Make a wish," Cooper whispered when the song was done.

Natasha paused for just a moment before she blew out the candle.

The ice cream cake was cut and divided, the remainder re-frozen, and they had almost finished eating when Lila poked Natasha's upper arm.

"Guess what? We got you a secret present," Lila whispered loudly, squirming in her seat.

"LI-LAAAA," Cooper whined, hands on his hips. "You just ruined the surprise!"

"Did not! She doesn't know what it is, do you?" She asked, looking at Natasha with doe eyes.

"No, I don't."

"See?" She said triumphantly to her brother, who shook his head and gave a sigh so heavy that the adults had to hold back laughter.

"You just don't understand," he said wearily.

Natasha shot Clint and Laura a stern look with her eyebrows raised in admonition. This most definitely counted as fanfare. Clint leaned in toward Natasha.

"I do not recall you giving your 'no fanfare' instruction to the _children_," he muttered. She elbowed him in the ribs, and he winced, massaging his side.

"Sneaky."

"Well, I am a spy," he said, smirking at her. He nodded to Lila. "Go ahead, honey."

Lila turned to fiddle with something on her dress and, with some difficulty, she extracted a small box from her pocket. Looking suddenly shy, she put the box in front of Natasha. It was about the size of a cassette tape, wrapped in colorful birthday paper and tied with a blue ribbon. The bow was slightly squashed from being in Lila's pocket.

"That's from all of us," Cooper declared, sitting back down across the table and next to his mother, who put an arm around him and grinned slyly at Natasha.

"We picked it out before you instituted your 'no fanfare' rule."

"Which we would have ignored, anyway," Clint laughed.

Natasha would have normally made a light jibe in return, but the words caught in her throat. She could not remember ever receiving a real birthday present before. She looked around at all of their faces, cast in the golden light of the setting sun. Her appreciation and affection for all of them could not be put into words.

"Open it," Cooper urged.

She untied the ribbon and slid her finger under the edge of the paper, lifting it off and exposing the royal blue velvet of the box underneath. A jewelry box. She opened the lid and there, nestled against a thin black cushion, was a necklace: a small golden arrow hung affixed at either end by a fine gold chain. She ran her fingers across the smooth, cool surface of the delicate metal.

"Do you like it?" Lila asked. Natasha smiled softly. She put her arm around Lila and hugged her close.

"Very much, _myshka,_" she said.

"It's not much—" Laura began, but Natasha shook her head.

"It's perfect, thank you," she said, her eyes beginning to well with tears. The whole idea of the gift was so heartfelt that she could not help being incredibly touched by the gesture. "Who picked it out?"

"We did, me and Lila," Cooper said happily. "'Cause we wanted to get you something pretty that would remind you of us."

Natasha nodded, at a loss for words, carefully lifting the necklace from the box. She held it in her hand and watched the sunlight glimmer off of the little golden arrow before she fastened the tiny clasp around her neck. Lila climbed up to sit on the table to get a better look. With a scrutinizing expression on her face, she reached out her little hand and straightened the necklace.

"There," Lila said, smiling with satisfaction.

Natasha touched the necklace where it lay on her chest and felt Clint's arm around her shoulders. She looked into his warm blue eyes, and around the table at Cooper, Laura, and Lila, who were all smiling at her.

"Thank you," she whispered, trying to put her unquantifiable gratitude for everything their gift had represented into words and failing spectacularly. "Thank you."

She could not remember ever having a happier day.

* * *

The wind whistled outside and thunder rumbled ominously, but it was the flash of lightning that prompted Natasha to open her eyes. She'd been having a nightmare and the feeling of uneasiness and dread lingered in the pit of her stomach even as the details of the dream dissolved into a mist too fine to call back. She was strangely grateful when these dreams occurred; even though they left her feeling deeply unsettled, at least she wasn't left with a raw, resurfaced memory or terrifyingly clear vision to deal with after she woke. A cool, wet breeze swept through and caused a chill to run through her, so she quickly crossed the room to shut the window. Natasha considered trying to go back to sleep, but knew her own mind well enough to know that it would be futile to try right now. Instead she pulled on a sweatshirt and headed into the hallway.

She was surprised to see a weak light cast into the hall. Assuming that Clint was awake as well, she walked into the living room for some company. She was even more surprised to see Laura sitting cross-legged on the sofa in the living room, a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Natasha looked around the room for Clint, but he was nowhere to be found. The movement of her entering the room prompted Laura to look up.

"Hey."

"Hey," Natasha replied. "Couldn't sleep?"

"Not so much, no," Laura said. "Want some company?" As Natasha approached, she saw that one of the shot glasses was empty.

"Clint awake too?" she asked, nodding toward the empty glass.

"Nope, just us," Laura said. Without asking, she poured vodka into the second glass as Natasha took a seat beside Laura, curling her legs beneath her.

"So the empty glass was for —?"

"Actually, I thought you might wander out here at some point." Laura gave her a knowing smile. "You always have a little more trouble sleeping after emotional days, good or bad."

Natasha was speechless. Her friend's observation was unnervingly accurate, but she did not let her surprise show on her face. She silently accepted the glass that Laura offered her. Laura raised her own glass and clinked it against hers.

"_Coknyemsya_," Laura said. Natasha echoed her.

"You know, we can just say 'cheers,'" she said.

"I'm being culturally competent. We can say 'cheers' for beer and bourbon."

Both women drank deeply, the alcohol's burn harsh but pleasant, and set their glasses down on the table. Another flash of lighting, rumble of thunder, and the sound of rain pounding against the windows harder and faster now signaled that a storm continued to approach.

"You aren't usually awake in the middle of the night like this," Natasha said, reading the weariness etched in her friend's face.

"It's been a rough few weeks for all of us."

Natasha leaned over and retrieved the bottle of vodka, which she knew Clint and Laura kept around just because it was her favorite. She poured a generous measure into each shot glass and handed one to Laura.

"Drink, then talk," she said. They clinked glasses and wordlessly sipped. Laura winced and set her glass down.

"You first," Laura told her. Natasha knew that Laura would only confide her troubles if she spoke of her own, so she shrugged and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you know most of it by now," she began, the familiar burn of alcohol invigorating her. "Earth being invaded by hostile aliens, the World Council trying to nuke Manhattan, running for my life and nearly being ripped to shreds by the Hulk, my best friend being brainwashed into trying to kill me. The worst of it was Loki rubbing my nose in my past and then stabbing Coulson through the heart." She felt the lump in her throat rising again at the mention of Coulson before quickly and swallowing it back down with vodka.

Both fell silent at the mention of Coulson. He had been an incredible friend and mentor to both Clint and Natasha, going with his instincts and trusting them both long before anyone else at SHIELD did. He had been Clint's supervising officer for a brief time, before his training had been transitioned to an agent more suited to his particular skill set. Coulson had also acted as their primary handler for most of their missions during the past couple of years. She knew how much he treasured his vintage trinkets, old-school spy equipment and Captain America trading cards included, and she knew how much he had looked forward to meeting his cellist girlfriend in Portland for her next performance. Thinking of the cellist's grief, and never knowing what Coulson had died for, sent a fresh wave of sorrow through her. It was evident from the look on Laura's face that she shared her sadness.

"Have to admit though, even after all that, you've fared worse during missions. Clint, too."

"No, but it _felt _like one of the worst. That's the thing about SHIELD," Natasha said, running her finger along the rim of her glass absentmindedly. "This job has made me want to work for something more than just myself. People like Coulson and Clint make me stronger, they make me want to do good and be better, but they make me vulnerable, too. Missions like this one start to feel worse."

"Mmhmm," Laura mumbled in agreement. "Well, this life isn't meant to be lived alone, Nat. Those relationships, the people you love, those are what makes life worth living, vulnerability and all." She reached out and rested her hand on Natasha's knee supportively, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad you're getting to experience that."

Natasha nodded slowly, drained the rest of the vodka in her glass, and pursed her lips lightly. She wasn't completely sure that she agreed with Laura yet. Maybe it was simply that the pain of losing Coulson and having to watch Clint be taken prisoner was still so fresh; the longer she'd had to know these people, the more it was going to hurt if something happened to them.

"Thinking of pulling back from SHIELD a little?" Laura asked. Natasha blinked at her, wondering whether she'd said that last bit out loud. She found herself shaking her head without thinking about it. It took Laura speaking the question aloud before Natasha realized it was something she'd been deliberating in the back of her mind ever since New York.

"Thinking about pushing forward. I can't slow down, not now."

"Why not?"

"Too much red in my ledger, and too much at stake," Natasha said simply, touching the tiny golden arrow necklace that rested near her heart. "With everything that happened in New York, the fight is so much bigger than any of us realized. SHIELD's going to need all the fighters they can get, and it turns out I'm not a bad fighter." Laura drained her own glass and frowned at her.

"You're talking like a soldier."

"Clint said that, too." Natasha poured herself another shot and offered one to Laura, who declined. She was already starting to feel a little lightheaded, and she was a lightweight anyway. Natasha took a sip of the alcohol before setting the glass back on the table and looking hard at Laura. "Your turn."

"What?"

"You said it's been a rough few weeks, you're not sleeping, and you were sitting up in the middle of the night with vodka and two glasses. Seems to me you wanted company. So, spill."

Laura took a deep breath and was a little embarrassed to feel moisture welling in her eyes. Natasha was surprised to see a tear trail down Laura's cheek and she reached out for to take her friend's hand.

"I'm sorry—" Natasha started, no expecting that reaction.

"I know that's not what you meant when you said spill," Laura gave a watery laugh, wiping her eyes with her left hand and squeezing Natasha's hand with her right. "No, um, a few days before Coulson told me that Clint was missing—" her voice trailed off and she deliberately looked away from Natasha. "I—I had a miscarriage."

Natasha was stunned. Suddenly, all of those phone updates she'd given Laura from the field while tracking Clint—the ones where Laura had dissolved into fits of sobs that rendered her incapable of conversation—were thrown into sharp perspective. She couldn't even begin to imagine that kind of loss. All that she could do was reach out and hold Laura's right hand in both of hers, moving closer to her on the couch.

"Oh, Laura," Natasha quietly spoke the only words she could think of. "I am so sorry." She felt Laura squeeze her hand.

"Thanks, Nat," she said.

"Does Clint—"

"Yeah," Laura nodded, abandoning pretense and pouring herself more vodka a little clumsily with her left hand. "I told him that day you took the kids out. He didn't even know I was pregnant at all, I found out right after he was sent on assignment. I was only 8 weeks along when it happened. The plan was to tell him the day he got back, but…"

Natasha nodded as Laura's voice trailed off. She found she was unable to speak, and even if she'd been able to find her voice, she did not know what to say. Natasha couldn't fathom what Laura was going through; she could never know that type of pain herself. The silence between them seemed to drag on and all she could do was hold Laura's hand in both of hers in what seemed now like a tiny and insignificant gesture. Outside, rain hammered angrily against the windowpane while the wind roared and thunder crashed outside. Several minutes passed with only the sound of the growing storm outside and their own thoughts to keep them company. Natasha gave Laura's hand a squeeze.

"If there's anything I can do," she said. Laura gave her a watery smile.

"Thanks, Nat. That means a lot." She rested her other hand on Natasha's and patted gently before reaching over to retrieve her shot glass from the table. They broke apart and Natasha reached for her glass as well. "I know it wan't my fault, and miscarriages are common, blah, blah, blah, but knowing that doesn't make things any easier."

The two of them raised their glasses together and this time, threw back their heads and downed the contents in one.

"So, enough about me, how's your love life?"

This non-sequitur sounded so ludicrous in the context of the rest of their conversation that Natasha had to laugh. She was spared answering the question by the lights in the room flickering for a moment, then going out and plunging the room into total darkness. The wind continued to howl outside while heavy rain thundered against the windows.

"Aw, crap," Laura groaned. "Come help me get the storm kit down."

Slowly and carefully, they felt their way through the kitchen and into the mud room, where Laura opened a cupboard and she and Natasha lifted down a large plastic storage box. Laura rummaged around for a moment before there was a soft click and the contents of the box were illuminated. It was stuffed with flashlights, candles, matches, batteries, and an emergency radio. Near the bottom of the large box were a small rechargeable battery (presumably to keep a cell phone running), a deck of playing cards, a copy of a book called 'The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe,' and some very thin emergency blankets. Natasha touched the book curiously.

"That's to keep the kids from killing each other during a prolonged stay in the basement," Laura explained.

They hauled the box back onto the kitchen table and as they approached, a klaxon-like alarm was sounding from Laura's phone.

"And now there's a tornado. Perfect," she groaned, starting to feel the effects of that last shot of vodka. "Would you mind waking Clint and the kids? I don't trust myself to carry the kids down the stairs after that last shot. I'll gather the rest of the things for the basement."

"No problem," Natasha said, and she hurried up the stairs and down the hall. She threw open the door to Clint and Laura's bedroom and found Clint sound asleep. He stirred at her footsteps.

"Nat, what gives?" He asked, sitting up drowsily. "Where's Laura?"

"Downstairs. There's a tornado, help me get the kids downstairs." His eyes slid sharply into focus, pulling on a t-shirt as he rushed out the door. He crossed the hall into Lila's room and Natasha went to wake Cooper. The sleepy boy was able to walk with her down the stairs holding his blanket and a book in his hands, Clint's footsteps following behind them. He led them down to the cellar, Natasha followed with the storm kit and Laura carried an armful of blankets and pillows gathered from the living room.

There was a corner of the unfinished basement that seemed furnished solely for this purpose with a large rug spread over the bare concrete floor and a well-worn plush sofa sitting against the cinderblock wall. A dozen gallon jugs of water sat to one side of the sofa along with four camping lanterns. Clint lit two of the lanterns and the room was flooded with a dim, flickering yellow light.. Laura coaxed Cooper and Lila onto the couch, lying with their heads at opposite ends, and covered their bodies with a blanket. Natasha set down the large box nearby and Clint withdrew the radio. He tuned it until he found the clearest weather station he could, then set it next to him and laid on the carpet with his hands resting under his head. Laura sat opposite Natasha, leaning against the couch and feeling her mental fog lifting. The three of them sat in silence until the slow, even breathing of the kids announced that both were asleep again.

"Coop and Lila don't seem scared at all," Natasha observed. Laura shrugged.

"Well, tornados are common here. They've never been hurt by one and we're down here a couple times a month during storm season."

"So," Clint said, clearing his throat and turning his head to face his wife with a smirk, "we just gonna gloss over the half-empty bottle of Vodka on the coffee table?" Laura and Natasha shared a look, a slight flush rising to Laura's cheeks.

"What vodka?" Natasha said, her face expiressionless. Laura smiled conspiratorially at her friend. They fell into silence and the radio crackled back to life.

"_A tornado watch remains in effect for Caldwell, Clinton, Daviess, DeKalb, and Livingston Counties until 5:00 AM on Saturday, June 30. Those in the affected areas should take shelter immediately. Tornado warning remains in effect for the following counties: Andrew, Atchison, Buchanan__…_" Natasha moved over to sit beside Laura, stretching her legs out in front of her with her ankles crossed.

"Anyone down for a game of Never Have I Ever?" Clint smirked at them.

"No," Laura said. "Even if we had alcohol, I will never play that game with the two of you again. It's no fun when you know the other players too well and you start saying things like 'never have I ever birthed a child,' or 'never have I ever been to a Backstreet Boys concert.'"

"Every party has a pooper—" Clint muttered as he looked up toward the ceiling.

"—That's why we invited you," Natasha finished and smirked, teasing, at Laura. Clint laughed at the same time Laura exclaimed 'Hey!'

"You know, all of my friends say that 3 is the worst number of children to have, because two are always ganging up on the 3rd. Now I understand why," Laura said. Without meaning two, both Natasha and Clint put their hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Blame Clint, he's the one who taught me that expression," Natasha told her, relaxing back against the couch again. They listened to the radio static for a while longer before Clint turned his head to look at his partner, her face cast partly in shadow by the dim light of the room.

"You decided when you're heading back?"

Natasha shook her head a fraction of an inch. She had been thinking about that ever since the night of her intense sparring match with Clint. She hadn't meant to, but she had allowed some of her own frustrations and grief to pour out onto the mat. The realization that she wanted to be doing more—needed to be doing more— to help SHIELD in its cause had burned brightly in the back of her mind ever since that night. The scale of the battle had changed and now the Avengers had become more than just a theoretical unit that existed only on Nick Fury's computer.

Early in her days with SHIELD, Fury had spotted her talents for threat assessment and interrogation and put them to use more than anyone but Coulson had realized. She wasn't even certain how much Clint had known of her involvement in the Avenger Initiative. First it was Bruce Banner, stealthily tracking him, researching and reviewing footage and communications from his past, all so she could write an assessment to deliver to Fury's desk. After Banner, she had been assigned to work undercover for Stark and had written a similar assessment for the Avenger file. Captain America was an obvious choice ever since he came out of the ice and began to reintegrate into modern society, even without a formal assessment, and she knew Thor had been on SHIELD's radar ever since his hammer landed in New Mexico.

But she and Clint? The Avenger Initiative was supposed to be for gifted or enhanced individuals. Superheroes. Clint was a phenomenal shot with a bow and she was exceptionally skilled at assassination and espionage, but neither of them was, strictly speaking, superhuman. The possibility—likelihood, knowing Fury—that she and Clint had been covertly evaluated for potential inclusion in the Avenger Initiative nagged at the back of her mind. Regardless of whether her involvement was orchestrated or not, she had stepped into the role.

Natasha had not realized it at the time, but when she donned her fully charged Black Widow suit and marched off of the Helicarrier and into battle with Steve Rogers and Clint, she had become an Avenger.

Whether or not she actually deserved a place on the team, she _wanted _to deserve one, and maybe that was enough for now.

"No," she told Clint and Laura. "I'm here as long as you need me, but I don't want to be away for too long. Fury wants me in New York to help get the Avenger Initiative officially up and running."

"I didn't know that," Clint said, sitting up to look at his partner. Natasha nodded and looked at him without a hint of sheepishness or embarrassment.

"I wanted to make sure you were in a good place after New York before I told you."

"Wow, Nat, that's incredible!" Laura said. "You'd get to help run the Avengers?"

"Oh, no, I'd only be helping to get things started," she said. "I'd be between there and DC for SHIELD missions when they need me."

"Still, that's an amazing opportunity."

"It is," she agreed. Both women looked at Clint, who was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Clint?" Laura prompted gently.

"Yeah," he said, seeming miles away in his thoughts. "Yeah, that's great, Nat. Congrats!" He sounded genuinely happy for her, but there was something else in his tone that she couldn't place. Laura frowned, sensing it too.

"Honey?"

"No, really," he said. "Nat, I'm really proud of how far you've come. Just going to miss Strike Team Delta, that's all." Natasha raised a scrutinizing eyebrow at him.

"Are they disbanding it or something?" she asked. Clint looked over at her with a frown.

"I mean, if you're moving to New York and developing the Avengers with Fury—"

"Clint, I was involved in the Avenger Initiative long before New York and we still worked together. Besides, Fury wants you in New York, too, once you're feeling up to it," Natasha told him, rolling her eyes a fraction of an inch in disbelief.

"Wait, what?"

"Tony and Pepper are redesigning their tower to incorporate the new Avengers headquarters."

"Wait, they aren't having the headquarters at SHIELD?" Laura interjected, a confused expression crossing her features.

"Fury must have his reasons," Natasha said. "Pepper e-mailed me some of the plans yesterday. Tony's really going all out: lots of office and lab space, training areas, communication center, living quarters, everything we'll need."

"Sounds impressive," Laura said. "Living quarters, huh? Do you mean to tell us you are moving in with _Tony Stark_?"

Natasha shot her a hard look as Clint guffawed.

"Oh, I can't wait to see how long Stark lasts with that arrangement."

"I would be living in one of the apartments in the building Tony owns. He'd be my landlord at best," Natasha corrected, unable to stop Laura's and Clint's teasing laughter. "Banner's already living there and working R&D in one of the labs."

"Really?" Laura asked with interest.

"Wow, guess he wasn't eager to go back to Calcutta," Clint observed. He stretched back out on the floor with his head resting on his hands once again.

"That would definitely make things less weird for you, if you lived there more permanently," Laura pointed out. Natasha nodded.

"Mmhmm, and Pepper says you and Rogers have a place there if you want one, however permanent," told him. She stretched her foot out and nudged Clint's shoulder. He turned his head and she looked into his face, the color of his eyes dulled in the dim light of the lanterns. "I am not breaking off our partnership."

"Didn't say you were." He said this with confidence, but the expression on his face betrayed relief. Laura rolled her eyes in her husband's direction, then gave Natasha a small smile.

"In fact, Stark keeps hinting that he's going to assign me to one of the larger suites," Natasha continued, "Specifically for when you come to visit." Clint laughed loudly before remembering the sleeping kids in close proximity and closing his mouth, still grinning.

"Hinting does not sound like his style," Laura said. Natasha looked over at her and tilted her head. It hadn't been a hint, more of an overt and somewhat crude comment, but she wasn't going to be any more detailed in front of Laura. However relaxed she was about Clint and Natasha's partnership and close friendship, However much Laura trusted them, Natasha did not want to give Laura even a hint a reason to be uncomfortable.

"Stark will be Stark. I've had plenty of practice ignoring him over the past two years," Natasha said with a shake of her head. "But you know that this—" she held her necklace gently between her forefinger and thumb, lifting it lightly off of her chest, "—is not going to help."

"You know, you don't have to wear it if you don't want to," Laura said. "Cooper saw it at the mall, showed it to Lila, and they were begging to get it for you."

"Laura texted me a picture. I thought it was a great idea," Clint finished.

"Of course I'm going to wear it," Natasha said, a small smile on her lips. "It's wonderful. Besides, when have the two of you ever seen me do something I didn't want to do?"

Clint and Laura shared a glance. The words seemed to be a sort of mantra for Nat. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but over the past couple of years both had seen her do plenty of little things that she hadn't really wanted to. Nat talked a tough game, but they doubted she truly wanted to watch the same episode of Dora the Explorer five times in a row with Lila, or play frustratingly long games of Monopoly with Cooper. She certainly had not wanted any of them to sing 'Happy Birthday' to her earlier in the day, and she often made polite small talk with the Bartons' friends in town even though she hated making small talk outside of a mission.

Neither Laura nor Clint called her out on it; they would let her keep this part of her facade intact for now.

"Alright, then."

* * *

That's a wrap for the Summer 2012 installment. My goal for the next update will be the 24th/25th.

I had imagined a different origin story for the arrow necklace after noticing her wearing it in Endgame, but wanted to make this story as canon-compliant as possible. Turned out, she wore this necklace in Winter Soldier as well.

There also may be a change to the title of this fic due to a combination of indecisiveness and impulsivity. As in, I had the story pretty well planned out generally and had planned to do either a post-Age of Ultron or a post-Winter Soldier, but I can't choose one to cut and that chapter is up next. If the title changes, I'll put something in the next story update and change to "7 times." Y'all, when I conceptualized this, it was supposed to be 5 and 1 (per the usual fanfic drabble challenges). Whoops.

Let me know what you think; as always, I would appreciate reviews, favorites, and follows.

Thanks all!


	7. Chapter 7

Hey there! There was a bit of delay posting this chapter, I know, but here it is!

As usual, spoilers will be current through the date of the chapter.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything that you recognize :)

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Spring 2014—Part I

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The hair not covered by Natasha's helmet whipped around her neck as she kicked the motorcycle into a sharp turn onto Prairie Avenue. The spring had been unusually dry for Missouri; she was tasting more dust than usual when gusts of wind blue, even though the full face shield on the helmet. She hadn't passed much traffic on her way into town and that suited her just fine; this was definitely one place she did not want to be followed. Although she felt a bit like one, Natasha was not a fugitive. Four days ago she'd boldly taunted a room full of government officials by declaring, "You're not going to put me in a prison."

Nobody had. It almost surprised her.

Because SHIELD had fallen, she was not accountable to anyone except herself for the first time in her life. Natasha had considered what true freedom would feel like so many times in the past she'd lost count, but she never imagined it would feel like loss and betrayal. Fury had disappeared, Maria Hill was interviewing for a job with Stark Industries, and Steve and Sam were planning to chase Bucky Barnes, who was long in the wind. Natasha could count on one hand the people who had been with SHIELD that she could still trust, and one of them had feigned death. She had not heard anything from Melinda May, her first SHIELD S.O. who had recently returned to fieldwork after a long hiatus, or from Bobbi Morse, a gifted fighter and the only agent she had ever trained personally.

If anyone had asked Natasha before this week if there was a chance Clint was a Hydra sleeper agent, she would have openly laughed at the absurdity of the accusation. After the events of the previous couple of weeks, though, a tiny seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. She had wanted this discussion to be face-to-face, but she'd needed to talk to him so badly that she ended up making the call from a secure line in Stark's tower.

It had been an emotionally charged phone call on both ends for each to affirm their allegiance as best they could. Natasha had been able to convey Fury's survival in coded language; after that piece of intel, Clint had no doubt about her loyalties. Natasha had been far more paranoid than usual during that conversation, but after everything that happened she _had to be sure_. When she'd asked Clint for proof, her voice betraying a hint of desperation, he'd gone silent and her stomach plummeted, a hollow chill rushing into the space where it used to be. Then, he laughed.

"Nat, come on," he rationalized. "You are a huge asset to whichever team you're playing on. If I was a sleeper agent, I'd have tried to recruit you to Hydra by now. You keep talking about owing me a debt and you've got a history of playing both sides. It would've been the smartest move."

Natasha had to give him that and she nodded even though she knew he couldn't see her. It wasn't enough for her to completely relax about it, but he was her best friend and she knew him better than she'd known anyone else. She decided to trust his words and her own assessment until she saw Clint in person.

That phone call had put her mind at ease enough that she was able to move forward for the time being. Natasha had taken the next couple of days to take stock of the safe houses still available to her, sit for an interview with government officials, speak with a lawyer whose services Pepper had kindly offered, pack her things, and plan a trip to the Bartons' farm. The nights dragged on longer than the days and she slept even less than usual, wandering the tower after dark and often finding Maria in the gym or Banner on the roof, seeking solace in their own ways.

She'd borrowed a motorcycle from Stark and returned to DC to testify at one last hearing up on Capitol Hill. Shortly after the hearing she stopped by the graveyard to find Steve, Sam, and Fury before heading west. The 14-hour drive was one she had done before but found that this time, her wounded shoulder ached incessantly from the vibrations of the bike. The smartest thing was to stop for the night at a seedy motel on the Ohio-Indiana border and rest her injury before setting off again the following morning. In any case, the timing would work better this way: it guaranteed Lila and Cooper would be in school rather than at home to witness any confrontation she might have with Clint. She had never raised her voice in anger in front of the kids and was not about to start now.

She'd stopped at supermarket rather than the nearby corner store for supplies. It was easier to blend in at these larger, more impersonal places, and the surveillance cameras were predictably placed. Dyeing her hair had not been planned, but when she heard her own name mentioned on the news that evening while combing out her newly brown locks, she was glad she had.

Natasha was relieved to see the white clapboard farmhouse and old red barn come into view in the distance. The sun was high in the sky and beat down on the shoulders of her leather jacket. The added heat combined with the vibrations was making her wounded shoulder throb painfully and she was grateful to finally round the wide corner into the Bartons' driveway.

She steered the bike around to the woodpile at the side of the house, leaning it against the neat stacks of quartered logs and stretching the blue tarp over it. She stepped back, rearranged the tarp to hide a visible section of a tire, and walked back around front when she was satisfied. Having an unfamiliar motorcycle on their property would certainly not do the Bartons any favors.

"Oh, thank God," Laura said, rushing out of the house toward Natasha. She must have heard the motorcycle. Laura reached out and pulled her into a tight hug, sending a searing pain through her already aggravated injury. Natasha was filled with momentary relief at the embrace and hugged her back in spite of her shoulder. "We've been so worried."

"It's okay, Laura, I'm fine."

Laura pulled back and looked at her hard. Natasha's mask of unreachable calm was fixed in place. A few years ago, Laura might have been fooled, but the fleeting expression behind Natasha's bright green eyes betrayed her. She was most certainly not 'fine.'

"Come on, let's go inside. Clint's out in the woods. I texted him when I heard you pull up so he should be in soon." Natasha slung her duffel over her shoulder and followed Laura into the house. She set down her bag near the door instead of depositing it on the bed in her usual room. Laura noticed and frowned.

"Your room is made up for you," Laura told her.

Unable to keep up the pretense, she faced Laura and looked her squarely in the face, and took a breath.

"Laura, I have to ask," she said firmly, "Are you associated in any way with Hydra?" Her words were articulate and emotionless. Laura blinked back at her, eyes wide and full of confusion at first. Then there was a flash of recognition and, Natasha only saw it briefly, sadness. Laura blinked again, straightened her shoulders, and looked carefully into Natasha's eyes.

"No," she said evenly, trying to convey as much honesty in her expression as she could manage.

Natasha believed her. Without a second thought she closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around her friend in relief and Laura hugged her back.

"Nat, you here?" Clint called, stepping into the house from the back door. Natasha stiffened and pulled away from Laura's embrace, widening her stance and crossing her arms in front of her chest. He rounded the corner into the living room smiling widely, relief in his eyes, standing there in a worn flannel shirt and dusty jeans and holding his arms out to her. He faltered, freezing at her expression, realizing in an instant what her steely demeanor meant. It was then that Clint seemed to remember why her face was so icy, and why his own guard should be up as well.

"Should I…?" Laura asked quietly, looking between her husband and her friend.

"No need," Clint told his wife, who took several steps back and surveyed them from the edge of the room. He and Natasha stepped closer to one another slowly, careful to keep both hands in full view of the other. They stopped with only a few feet separating them.

"You armed?" He asked quietly. Natasha nodded slowly.

"You?"

He shook his head. Slowly, Natasha reached just inside the cuff of her left jacket sleeve and removed one of her Widow's Bites. She placed it onto the worn wood floor and slid it carefully toward Clint. He picked it up, swallowing hard.

It was a gesture of good will, he knew, to give him a weapon in case he had not fully trusted her words over the phone. Each needed to see the truth or the lie in the other's eyes to be certain. Clint held the little metal disk in his hand, ready to activate if needed. He swallowed hard and looked straight into Natasha's bright green eyes and spoke.

"Tell me you're not Hydra," he said, more quickly and sounding more pleading than he had intended.

"I'm not Hydra," she answered evenly. She studied his face, intensely focused on each detail of his clear blue eyes and each wrinkle in his face that could betray him. In a low and unwavering voice, she asked "Are you working for Hydra?"

"No," Clint said firmly. Natasha's eyes continued to bore into his. He held her gaze steadily

"Have you ever been loyal to Hydra?"

"No," he said again, resolute.

After a moment, when the truth in his face was indubitably clear, she felt a sweeping relief pour over her. Clint dropped the Widow's Bite and they moved toward each other. Natasha allowed herself to be enveloped in her best friend's embrace. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around him, and rested her cheek against the soft flannel of his shirt. She permitted herself this moment of solace. He smelled like home.

"You've got a hole in your sock," she observed as they pulled apart. They looked at each other for a split second before bursting into laughter.

"Ha! I keep telling him to throw those out, but he's stubborn," Laura grinned, able to move now that the tension between Clint and Natasha had broken. She made her way into the kitchen for a pitcher of lemonade and glasses.

"I'm glad you'e safe," Clint said. He pulled back and kept his hands on her upper arms, taking in her appearance. "You look okay. _Are_ you okay?" Laura beckoned toward the table and they followed.

"I've had better weeks," she said drily. They sat and Clint poured the lemonade. He set a glass in front of Natasha and she muttered a quick thanks.

"I bet you have," Clint said. He exhaled long and hard, shaking his head to himself.

It did not take long for the sense of relief that had flooded Natasha the minute before was taken over with a sinking weight of dread as she worked out Clint's meaning. Her files were public now, released during the information purge she had triggered only a few days ago at the Triskelion. Natasha's worst deeds had been laid out in detail for the world to see: Osaka, Sao Paolo, the children's ward fire, Belgrade, every horrific act that each grisly mission had entailed. It was all now as raw and exposed as a nerve.

The whole world could see it all, including Laura and the kids.

Natasha looked up uncomfortably, eyes following Laura as she bustled around the kitchen. She was normally able to leave the Black Widow at the door when she visited, but now her life as a spy and everything that came with it had followed her across the threshold, unbidden. It was Laura's reaction that she worried about most, not just for herself but for Clint.

Clint had told his wife quite a bit about Natasha the first time he'd invited her to stay with them, but she doubted very much that he'd laid out an itemized list of her misdeeds. She had committed innumerable heinous acts in the past, first while growing up in the Red Room and, later, while under the employ of the KGB. Clint had been privy to a number of harrowing details of her past that she was almost certain he'd never told Laura. She worried that Laura would think her husband had intended to lie by omission and the last thing Natasha wanted on top of everything else was to cause a rift in their relationship.

"How much—?" she muttered quietly, voice trailing off in a question, meeting Clint's gaze. He gave a tiny nod and an almost imperceptible shrug.

"We've been watching the news," he said, voice barely above a whisper. He glanced over his shoulder to check that Laura was still busy, now deftly slicing summer sausage and cheese onto a plate with her back to them. "But she knows media bias is always skewed and hasn't asked many questions. She mostly just gets hacked off with the news only covering the awful stuff without ever mentioning all the good you've done. Good news is that with the sheer amount of info dumped all at once, nobody's been discussing any one person in too much detail." Natasha hardly had time to process this when Laura set the platter of cheese, salami, and crackers onto the table in front of her.

"Here," Laura said, offering the food. "You'll feel better after you eat something."

"Thanks, Laura," she said gratefully. "Sorry about the confrontation."

"I'm sure everyone's trust is frayed after this week," Laura rationalized. She looked hard at Natasha, who was drinking her lemonade. "But you should know that we have never lied to you, Nat. Everything here has been genuine."

Natasha only nodded, set down her glass, and reached for a cracker and some cheese from the plate in front of her. She looked up at Clint, her face somber. "It went all the way to the top, Clint. Guys like Sitwell and Rumlow were a little seedy to begin with, Alexander Pierce, too, but John Garrett? Fury trained Garrett himself, just like Coulson, and Garrett and Coulson were friends."

"Jesus," Clint muttered. "Who all's left?"

"As far as most agents know, Hill and Hand are the highest-ranking SHIELD officers still standing who aren't Hydra, and Hand hasn't been in contact since she left to escort Garret to a cell in the Fridge."

"Fridge?" Laura asked curiously.

"It's a secret SHIELD facility, mostly houses high-threat prisoners and dangerous objects, including weapons," Clint explained, stuffing several slices of salami into his mouth. "Damn it, does SHIELD still control the Fridge?"

"I hope so. Hydra's taken the Treehouse, the East African headquarters, the Sandbox," Natasha ticked off on her fingers. "Fury and Hill are only certain of 3 bases that are still secure, including the Hub." Clint scrubbed his left hand over his face and Laura reached across the table to take his right.

"This is a nightmare," he said.

"It gets worse," Natasha told him grimly. "Hill got word yesterday that small contingents of Hydra agents have been staking out known SHIELD safe houses. Now our agents are coming back to regroup and getting ambushed instead."

"Jesus," Clint muttered in disbelief. His knuckles were white on the table. Laura's face went white. "Shit."

They all sat in silence for a long moment before Laura seemed to come back to herself, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Oh, my God," she said, "It's a miracle you both made it through this."

Natasha and Clint looked at each other. They were okay, but a lot of their colleagues hadn't made it, and so many still hadn't been heard from. She picked a cracker off of the plate for something to do. Clint and Laura glanced at each other significantly when they thought Natasha wasn't looking.

"What?" she asked, looking between them. Clint cleared his throat to speak, but Laura started in first.

"There was a massive intelligence leak at SHIELD, but even with all of that—" she paused, "—there wasn't a single thing about us." Natasha looked between them seriously. She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly.

"Can't release files that don't exist."

"Nat," Laura breathed. "You deleted Clint's files?"

Natasha inclined her head in a half-nod. The vast majority of details pertaining to the Bartons were never part of Clint's file to begin with, but his trayel logs certainly were. Anyone hunting him would have been easily able to follow that trail and inadvertently find Laura and the kids too. The thought of anyone tracking down and hurting any of the Bartons sent a shiver straight down her spine.

"But if you had the time, you should have deleted your own files instead. Laura and the kids shouldn't be on SHIELD's files anyway," Clint protested.

"Would've looked suspicious, files disappearing for the person who triggered the intelligence dump?" Natasha shook her head. "Besides, there wasn't time for both."

"That choice—" Laura spoke so softly her voice was almost a whisper. "I can't imagine what it cost you."

"I can," Clint said darkly. His eyes bored into hers and she looked back at him, steadfast and unblinking.

"This was always a possibility, Clint, ever since I joined SHIELD. I knew that." Natasha's voice was low and level. "We chose this life. Laura and the kids didn't."

"Nat, we can't thank you enough. We owe you big time," Laura said with a shaky voice.

"No, you don't. Friends don't keep ledgers, right? You taught me that," Natasha gave Laura a small but sincere smile and watched her friend's warm brown eyes fill with tears.

"Thank you." She took Natasha's left hand in hers at the same time Clint wrapped his arm around her shoulder in a tight hug, squeezing her injured shoulder in exactly the wrong way. Natasha couldn't stop the low hiss of pain escaping her as her shoulder flinched out of his grasp. Clint jerked his arm back.

"You hurt, Nat?" Clint asked in surprise. Laura stood so quickly her chair nearly toppled over.

"It's nothing."

"Yeah, well, that 'nothing' is bleeding," Laura said, indicating two tiny spots of blood that had appeared on her white T-shirt. "Let me take a look." Natasha allowed Laura to help shrug off her jacket, then tugged the v-neck of her shirt over to reveal the puckered pink tissue of her healing gunshot wound. One of her stitches had torn loose and blood had started to ooze. Laura sucked in a breath and Clint clicked his tongue against his teeth.

"I've had worse."

"You say that as though it's comforting," Laura remarked before she moved away, heading across the room for the first aid kit, and Clint took her place in front of Natasha. He scrutinized the wound.

"Gunshot? Who?"

"Winter Soldier," she said bitterly. He shook his head and let out a low whistle, looking surprised.

"Careful, you're gonna make that a habit."

"What?"

"Letting that guy shoot you." Natasha glared at Clint, who chuckled.

She proceeded to ignore him by neatly stacking cheese and salami on a cracker and taking a loud bite. It wasn't long before Laura returned with the first aid kit and had patched her up with a fresh bandage and some ibuprofen.

"Time to go pick up the kids," Laura said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

"I definitely forgot. Thanks, honey," Clint said. He gave Laura a quick kiss and gathered his keys.

"I should change my shirt," Natasha told Laura with a nod to the blood stain on the one she was wearing. After Clint said goodbye and disappeared out the front door, a strange silence settled over the two women. It was not discomfort, exactly, more like awkwardness. Natasha stood to take her things back to the guest bedroom but Laura spoke when she made to stand.

"Hold on, Nat, let me grab some linens for you. Your bed's not made, I wasn't sure when you were coming."

"I'll do it, it's no problem."

"Don't be silly, I don't want you to rip another stitch." Laura hurried off down the hall and returned a minute later with neatly folded sheets and towels in her arms. "Come on."

Natasha walked down the hall with her and picked up her duffel bag as they passed by the front door. They were silent as both pulled back the quilt on the bed and tucked the fitted sheet around the mattress. The window was open and a warm breeze refreshed the air in the room. Within a few minutes, the bed was made and all that passed between them was complete silence.

"Laura, if you're not comfortable —" Natasha began, but Laura shook her head.

"Stop."

"—with everything that comes with my files being released—"

"Stop," Laura admonished, more firmly this time. "Nat, your past being public, that doesn't change anything for you inside this house."

"Knowing the truth can change everything," Natasha said carefully, her voice soft. Laura detected the ghost of a plea drift over her friend's face so quickly that she might have imagined it. She seemed to be struggling to understand how Laura could be so accepting of the horrors in her past, and yet Natasha had not even blinked before choosing to protect Laura and the kids ahead of herself. Laura felt a sudden surge of pity for Nat, who might never have learned about unconditional love and the meaning of family if Clint hadn't brought her to the farm after her head injury years ago.

"Listen," Laura said, circling around to where Natasha stood and sitting on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Natasha to sit as well. She did. "When I first met you, you were an unstable recently un-brainwashed ex-KGB super assassin with a past full of horrific traumas and a pretty severe head injury. Cooper and Lila were still babies, and I was nervous, but I trusted Clint's judgment then and I trust it now."

"How much detail did Clint go into?"

"Very little," Laura said. "Before the news reports, all I know about your past is what you've told me."

"Probably worse than you imagined, huh?" Natasha tried to keep her voice nonchalant. Laura shrugged.

"About as bad, yes. But Nat, I never met the person who did all of those things. I only know _you_," Laura told her, resting a hand on Natasha's good shoulder. "Besides, if I only ever judged people on their worst mistakes, I never would have dated Clint."

Natasha couldn't help smiling a little at this.

"I'm really glad to have you home safely."

Natasha felt herself nod stiffly, trying to hide her emotion as Laura left her alone to unpack. Her fingers found the tiny golden arrow that hung at the base of her throat. Even after everything, after all of her worst secrets had been laid out for the world to see, Laura was welcoming her back like family.

She finished unpacking and had just pulled on a clean t-shirt when the crunch of tires on gravel sounded through the open window. Clint and the kids were back. She smiled at the thought of seeing Cooper and Lila. With all of the rapid change in her world, it was nice to know that their lives were the same as ever. Clint had told her over the phone that they had been careful to keep the news coverage of SHIELD's fall concealed from the kids, who were both too young to know the true nature of what Clint and Natasha did for a living.

She met Laura on the front porch and watched as Cooper hopped out of the car and Clint helped Lila down from her booster seat. It had only been a few months since her last visit, but she marveled at how much each child had grown. Lila's face broke into a smile of delight when she registered Natasha standing there, and in light of all the recent tumult the little girl's grin was a balm for Natasha.

"I knew it!" Lila shouted happily before running toward the house, her long brown hair barely contained by a headband and purple dress catching in her legs as she ran. Natasha met her at the bottom of the steps and swept her up in a hug as Lila leapt up into her arms. "Daddy said there was a surprise at home, which means you or Bibi came to visit."

"Hey sweetheart, how are you?" Lila loosened her grip on Natasha and pulled back, still sitting with her legs wrapped around Natasha's hips. She touched Natasha's dyed hair and giggled.

"We match," she said, holding out a lock of her own hair for comparison. Lila was right, the shades of brown were very close.

"Yes we do."

"Guess what, Auntie Nat? I'm almost done with kindergarten now, and I started ballet lessons!" Lila chattered on. Natasha glanced sideways at Laura and saw that she was frowning with concern. She looked over Lila's shoulder and saw why: Cooper stood next to the car looking distressed while Clint knelt on one knee in front of his son, a hand on his shoulder. Cooper was wringing the hem of his Kansas City Royals t-shirt nervously in his hands.

"What's up with your brother, Lila?" Laura asked her youngest child

"Daddy says he's in a _mood_," she said, emphasizing the word. Natasha looked over at Cooper with concern and his eyes twitched over and met hers. She was not prepared for what she saw in his face.

It was fear.

Her stomach plummeted with dread. _Bozhe moy_.

Clint must have seen the change in Cooper's face, too, because he turned toward Laura and Natasha, gesturing them to go back into the house. His face was tightened by a grim expression, lips pressed into a line. Natasha set Lila down and walked with her and Laura back inside under the pretense of getting the little girl a snack. Laura shooed Lila upstairs first to put down her backpack, giving her and Natasha a minute alone.

"Nat, I swear, I have no idea—" Laura murmured quickly, out of earshot of Lila. Natasha shook her head.

"This day was going to come eventually, for both of them," she said sadly. Laura swallowed hard.

"I was hoping that day would be when they were in their 20's," Laura said. "Can't shelter them forever, I guess."

"He's afraid of me," Natasha muttered, and the words came tearing through her chest like blades.

"We don't know what he's heard, or in what context. Clint's finding out and we can address it."

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled a long breath through pursed lips. She had been dreading this possibility for years and it had come far too soon for her liking. There was tapping at the doorframe and she and Laura looked around to see Clint poking his head through the open door.

"Nat, can we borrow you for a sec?" he asked.

Laura gave her an apprehensive and sympathetic glance as Natasha carefully fixed an expression of cool composure onto her face and followed Clint out the doorway into the bright but overcast spring afternoon. She stepped onto the porch to find Cooper sitting on the porch swing. His legs dangled from the seat, which was mounted a little too high for his 8-year-old frame, half-untied shoelaces swinging with the movement. His shaggy light brown hair flopped in front of his eyes, obscuring his face from view. His head was hung and he did not look up at her even when a floorboard creaked under her feet.

Clint pulled a plastic chair around and set it in front of the porch swing for Natasha before taking a seat beside his son. Natasha turned the chair backwards and sat facing Clint and Cooper, legs straddling the seat and resting her folded arms atop the chair's back. Clint put an arm around Cooper's shoulders. Natasha met her partner's eyes, his expression crestfallen.

"Cooper saw some stuff on the news about you at a friend's house yesterday." Clint explained. Natasha nodded slowly. Cooper continued to sit, head down, twisting his hands in his lap.

"Ah," she said sadly to Cooper. "I bet you have some questions." He shook his head and Clint squeezed his shoulders reassuringly, the worried crease appearing between his eyebrows. Natasha allowed the silence to fill the space, but after a moment Clint gave a soft sigh.

"Coop," he said gently, lifting his son's chin with two fingers so he'd look at him. "Please tell Nat what you told me a few minutes ago. It's okay."

Cooper nodded at his father and, swallowing hard, shifted in his seat to look at Natasha. There were shadows of fear and confusion behind his hazel eyes. Clint glanced between his son and his partner and waited. The little boy took a deep breath

"I was at my friend Josh's house and your picture was on TV. The news people were calling you a killer and a liar and a criminal," he said all this very quickly and stared back down into his lap. "They said you were a bad guy who should go to jail."

"I've heard those things, too." Natasha said evenly, and Clint saw her face tighten just slightly.

"But you've always been nice to me and Lila. The nasty stuff they're saying doesn't make sense. Are you a bad guy?" Cooper blurted out, shifting closer to Clint as the words left him.

Natasha wasn't immediately sure how to answer. For so long, she'd thought she had turned and gone straight, joining SHIELD, leaving the KGB and using her Red Room training for an organization that she'd thought were solidly "good guys." But now, she wasn't sure. Now that Hydra had come to light, she had been struggling with the question of whether she had truly been acting for good. _"I thought I knew whose lies I was telling," _she had told Steve just last week. Even remembering those words sent betrayal coursing through her.

"I used to be, yes," she said simply. Cooper looked up in surprise. This was clearly not the answer he had expected.

"What? Why?"

"When I was a little girl, the people who were supposed to teach me right from wrong did it backwards," she said. Cooper was looking at her with wide eyes. "They made me to do a lot of things that were wrong, but I didn't know that when I was doing them. When I was older and learned what "right" and "wrong" really were, I wanted to be one of the good guys. But the bad things were already done."

"So the things they're saying on the news are _true_?" Cooper said, stunned. Natasha swallowed hard as her eyes met Clint's. He gave her a tiny nod. He wanted his son to know the truth, though without the specific details.

"Yes, some of them are," she said. She kept her voice low and without pretense.

"But _why_?" Cooper's tone of voice begged an answer.

"My bosses told me the bad things were good, and said they would hurt me if I didn't."

"What a bunch of jerks."

"Language, Coop," Clint interjected quietly.

"They sound like bullies. My mom and dad say that if there's a bully picking on you, you should get away and tell a grown-up."

"They're right."

"Then how come you didn't?" Clint looked at Natasha with a clear question in his eyes:_ Want me to shut this down? _She shook her head a fraction of an inch. If Cooper was trying to understand, she wanted to give him the chance.

"I tried to run away once and it didn't work. After that I stayed because I didn't think I had a choice."

"Mom and Dad say you always have a choice," Cooper argued. Natasha raised an eyebrow at Clint almost imperceptibly. Damn the Bartons and their moral parenting. She took a slow breath, nodding.

"He's right. I was far older than you are now when I realized that," she said. Natasha deliberated how much more to say and chose her next words very carefully. "When I decided to make the other choice, your dad was already trying to find me, so I let him." She glanced up at Clint for a fleeting moment. It took several seconds to reconcile the meaning of her words. When he did, a cold chill shot up his spine.

She had never told him that before, and the chilling implication reverberated in his mind even as Cooper spoke his next words.

"Oh, so he knew you wanted to leave and be a good guy?" Cooper's eyes were wide with curiosity. Natasha managed a very small smile.

"Well, he could tell I didn't want to work for the bad guys anymore," she told him. "And he brought me to the good guys."

"Oh," said Cooper, thinking hard. "So you used to work for bad people and now you work for the good people?" For a fraction of a second, she hesitated. She'd thought she was helping good people while she worked for SHIELD. She looked into Cooper's face, no longer afraid to meet her gaze, and nodded at him.

"Your dad and I work together on the same team, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Cooper said, as though he'd forgotten. Clint chuckled. "Wait, if you are one of the good guys, how come the news people aren't talking about that? How come they are only talking about the bad stuff from forever ago?

"That, my boy, is because the bad and scary stories are more exciting to watch on TV," Clint told his son, ruffling his hair.

"Nuh-uh, heroes are always cool to watch! I'd rather watch Captain America or Ironman on TV than scary stuff any day."

Cooper extracted himself from his father's arm and hopped down from the porch swing. He approached Natasha more slowly than he normally would have done, but he didn't look afraid anymore. She was still sitting in the chair which put them at eye level with one another. He was growing up so fast. Natasha felt like only a short time ago he was a toddler dangling upside down from Clint's shoulders and giggling at her. Now he was an inquisitive boy trying to parse out the differences between good and evil and the roles each played in how the world worked. A section of his hair had fallen in front of his eyes and she lifted her hand to brush it aside but stopped herself midair.

"I'm glad you're home," he said before throwing his arms around her and hugging her in earnest. Natasha held him gratefully, one hand on the back of his head. He shifted slightly and whispered in her ear, "I don't think you're bad."

There were tears brimming in Natasha's eyes when she kissed Cooper's temple.

"Thanks, _bratik_," she said.

"I'm gonna write to the news people and tell them it wasn't your fault and that you're a really good person."

And then he was off, scampering into the house saying something about wanting a snack. Natasha blinked at the door after him and then looked at Clint, who had an expression on his face that she couldn't quite put her finger on. He patted the now-empty seat on the porch swing and she joined him. Clint put his arm around her and she exhaled hard, allowing herself to relax into his side.

"Well, that could have gone worse," he observed.

"Still sucked."

"Yeah, well, part of growing up is learning that the adults in your life are flawed," Clint told her. "I was hoping he'd be older when that started, but what can you do?"

"Maybe start by intercepting that letter before it gets to the mailman," Natasha smirked at him and adjusted her position to loop her arm around his waist without upsetting her injury, which was feeling much better after the ibuprofen.

"Oh yeah, whatever he writes will never leave this property."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the anxieties from the conversation with Cooper very slowly dissipating and lifting weight from her shoulders. She looked out onto the property and began her usual mental catalog of the changes since she'd last been there, but found almost everything she could see remained as it had been. There was a sound she missed, though, one she associated with time spent out on this porch.

"The screen door doesn't slam anymore."

"Nope. I replaced the spring, it's a soft-close one now. Shouldn't bang shut no matter how hard the kids try to slam it," he said.

"Sounds like a challenge."

"Cooper certainly took it that way," he smirked.

"Anything else new around here?"

"You trying to make small talk, Nat?" She looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "Ok, uh, the kids have been begging me to build them a treehouse so I've been scouting out trees. Found a good one earlier so I think I'll start drawing up the plans. Now that I'm unemployed, I should have plenty of time to work on that."

Natasha hadn't thought of it that way, but she supposed she was formally unemployed now, too. Stark had been talking about backing the Avengers initiative independently over the past couple of days. The two of them had a long history of butting heads, but there was no denying that they both had similar goals in mind. She happened to think it was a good idea. Hydra coming out of the shadows didn't change the potential threats from monsters and magic, and the world still needed protection. Having the Avengers exist as an organization independent from a government agenda might not be a bad thing.

"So we're going to avoid talking about the other thing?" Clint asked in a low voice.

"What other thing?"

He gave Natasha a hard look and seemed to be weighing how to proceed. She blinked at him.

"The thing you mentioned to Cooper a minute ago, the one you'd never told me."

"Oh," Natasha said quietly. There was hurt in Clint's expression that she didn't understand. "Like you told Cooper, there's always another choice. Just took me a while to see it."

"Jesus, Nat," Clint groaned softly. She frowned at him with concern.

"That was a long time ago," she murmured. "It was entrapment and despair and resignation and the thought of all the people that would die if I stayed with the KGB. There wasn't another way out."

"So you were going to let me put an arrow through your heart?" His voice came out in a strange, low growl.

"Yes. The other parties after me at the time would have been much less kind," she said. He was quiet, and Natasha was sure her words hadn't come across like she'd meant them to. She took his free hand in hers and squeezed. "But, Clint, you offered me another way out. You gave me that hope when I had nothing."

"Wish I could've gotten to you sooner," he said softly.

"If you had, I might not have been ready to listen," she told him, squeezing his hand one more time before releasing it. Several long minutes passed with only the sound of the kids arguing about some thing or other drifting through the open screen door to keep them grounded.

Natasha wasn't sure how much time had passed before Lila threw open the door and peered onto the porch. She made her best pouty face at Clint before turning and shouting back into the house.

"Mommy, tell Daddy to stop hogging Auntie Nat. I want a turn to play with her!"

Clint and Natasha grinned at each other.

"I'll be in soon, Lila," she said. Seeming sufficiently appeased, Lila scampered back into the house.

"Looks like my presence is required elsewhere," she said, extracting herself from beneath Clint's arm. "Thanks for helping me talk to Cooper."

She stood and started back toward the house, but Clint caught her around the wrist. She looked back at him, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"Will you promise me that if you ever get… get _low_ like that again, will you tell me? Please?" Natasha gave him a small reassuring smile and shook her head a fraction of an inch.

"Clint, it's not—"

"Promise me."

It was a demand now, Natasha could read it clearly in his face. She pursed her lips and relaxed her forehead. The thought had truly not crossed her mind even once since she had broken from the Red Room's brainwashing, and as long as she could continue being herself she knew it wouldn't again. Whoever that person was now without the KGB or SHIELD or any of her covers. She would figure it out. She always did.

"I promise."

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This one was a little emotionally heavy, but I imagine that SHIELD falling and all of her covers being blown was a huge turning point for Natasha's character development. There will be more happiness in the next part.

Let me know what you think; as always, I would appreciate reviews, favorites, and follows.

Thanks all!


	8. Chapter 8

Happy Tuesday! Happy Spider Man Release Day! And, more importantly, happy advancement of team USA to the Women's World Cup finals!

Quick housekeeping item: I will be changing the title to "Seven Times…" with the next chapter installment, so keep your eyes peeled around this time next week. This is because I ultimately wasn't able to cut a chapter. Whoops.

DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it

SPOILERS: There will be spoilers through The Winter Soldier. As always, there will be no flash-forwards involving important spoilers from the MCU. There is a tiny flash-forward referencing a deleted scene from Civil War at the end, but again nothing major.

Enjoy!

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Spring 2014—Part II

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The following morning started out chilly and overcast with the threat of rain looming. Both kids were fed, dressed, and ushered off to school without incident. Clint had taken them to school with the intention to stop by the hardware store on the way back for lumber and other supplies to start the platform on the treehouse he'd gone on about building for the kids. After they'd finished their coffee and cleaned up from the morning's chaos, Laura suggested that Natasha help her to prep the vegetable garden for the new season and plant some of her seedlings. Natasha was glad to be useful and pulled on a pair of Laura's old sneakers for the task.

They tilled the soil and formed it into neat mounded rows with the help of garden equipment while classic rock tunes played over Laura's bluetooth speaker. When they settled between the rows with a tray of seedlings and a trowel apiece to do the planting, it became clear that Laura had been bursting all morning to check in on her.

"How are you feeling, Nat?"

"My shoulder's fine," she said truthfully. Since Laura had been insisting she take regular doses of ibuprofen, she'd hardly even noticed the injury.

"Not what I meant and you know it." Natasha paused briefly.

"I'm okay."

"Really?" Laura looked very skeptical, an expression which Natasha thought was justified.

"Really," she said. "Being able to talk through things helped."

The three of them had sat talking late into the evening after the kids had gone to sleep, debriefing about SHIELD and her conversation with Cooper. Laura had been surprised to hear about Cooper's unwitting exposure to the grim details of Natasha's profession and some of her past misdeeds. She seemed satisfied and Clint's recap of the conversation. Natasha noted the he left out any mention of her "low point," and she was unspeakably grateful to him for that.

"I'm glad," Laura told her with an understanding smile. "So how long are you staying here with us?"

"Not too long, I don't want to draw attention. Do you want the peppers over there again this year?" Natasha asked, gesturing to a section of the large garden. Laura nodded and Natasha moved her tray of seedlings to the designated row.

"Any thoughts on where you go from here?"

"I think I'll go back to Russia," she said, placing a seedling carefully into the neatly dug hole and patting soil down around it. "Try to find my parents."

Laura sat back onto her heels and looked at her friend thoughtfully. She had considered Nat a part of their family for so long that she didn't often consider that she'd once had one of her own. She knew Nat had lived with family before the Red Room program, and that somehow she was separated from them and sent to live in an orphanage. Laura wasn't certain how much of her early childhood Natasha remembered, especially since she never brought up the subject. Whatever family she'd had seemed so minor a consideration that Laura never gave them much thought.

Of course Nat wanted to track down any remaining family she had, it was only natural. Laura couldn't blame her for that, but she also recognized an irrational nagging at the back of her mind. It was selfish, she knew, but the thought of Natasha putting herself in danger to track down what remained of the family she could not remember was irrationally unnerving. She had grown to see Nat as the sister she'd never had as a child and she cherished their relationship. She had also grown accustomed to being Natasha's family.

"Of course," Laura replied in a voice that she hoped sounded encouraging. She retrieved another seedling from the tray next to her. "Sounds like a trip worth taking."

"I hope so. I don't know what's left of them, but I'd like to find out what I can," Natasha said earnestly.

"Is it safe for you there?"

"As safe as anywhere else."

"Safer than here?" Laura said sardonically, raising an eyebrow at her. In response, Natasha's lips pursed and shoulders fell back as she eyed Laura sideways.

"You know what I mean."

"I know, I know." Laura stood and stretched briefly. "I just like having you home, where it's safe. Not being worried about if you're eating, where you're sleeping, whether anyone is hunting you—" she shook the unpleasant thought out of her mind.

"I like knowing that all of _you _are safe," Natasha said. "And my staying too long could compromise that."

"Come on, Nat, you've been here plenty of times without problems. Besides, who's going to come to East Podunk Padookaville to look for you?" Laura tried to argue, but her point was undermined by Natasha's actual snort of laughter. Laura put her hands on her hips and looked at her friend with annoyance.

"East _what_?" Natasha asked, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice. Laura '_tutted_' under her breath.

"It's an expression that means 'the middle of nowhere.' The point is that nobody's tracked you here in the past, why would they now?"

"I'm more worried about your neighbors. My face has been on TV with nasty chyrons scrolling underneath the photo," Natasha pointed out. "I'm surprised your mom hasn't come to chase me away with a pitchfork."

Since their first meeting almost 3 years previously, they'd only run into each other two more times. At Cooper's 6th birthday party two years ago, Bonnie had been cold and kept her distance. That was fine with Natasha, who only ever put effort into what Laura called "people-pleasing" while she was on a job. They had coexisted just fine mixed in with the small party crowd, though Bonnie made it clear that she did not believe Natasha was really Clint's cousin. She'd side-eyed Natasha suspiciously for a large chunk of the day.

The most recent time was less pleasant. Natasha had stopped at the farm following a mission in Pakistan and planned to pick up Clint so the two of them could be briefed on their next mission, set to start later in the week. Since she had a quinjet and was flying east anyway, Laura suggested that she park the plane behind a copse of trees and join them for their Labor Day barbecue, stay the night, and fly out the following day. Natasha had agreed readily, eager for the reprieve between missions.

The picnic turned out to be the family, Bonnie, and Natasha. In such a small group of people, even little Lila had picked up on the icy chill that Bonnie was emitting. Natasha did not go out of her way to set Laura's mother at ease with pleasantries, and this might have contributed to the problem. Almost immediately after the kids had gone to bed, Bonnie had gone off on Natasha and made some distasteful insinuations about how she might be trying to destabilize the family, at which point she had tried to clarify things, failed to convince Bonnie of her intentions, and had resigned herself to camping out in the quinjet that night in the name of restoring some peace in the house.

By the time Natasha had finished her intentionally long morning run, Bonnie had left to return to Iowa and the two of them had not seen each other since.

There had been a heavy feeling hanging in the house that morning and she could tell Laura felt it too. The two of them had sat with their coffee on the back porch for a long time before either of them spoke, not being able to come up with the right words to address the situation. Eventually, Laura had laughed to herself and turned to Natasha.

"You know what? I think my mom would actually do better with this situation if we told her that we all converted to Mormonism and Clint took you as his second wife."

"I'm sorry?" Natasha had asked. The idea was so ludicrous that she was positive she'd misheard her friend.

"You know, polygamy," Laura explained matter-of-factly. "That way, having another woman around here wouldn't automatically mean the family was breaking apart."

"You can't be serious."

"I am. It's a perfect solution. We wouldn't actually _do_ anything, we would just lie to my mother." Laura had a glint of mischief in her eye when she took her next sip of coffee.

"_Bozhe moy_," Natasha groaned, resting her forehead in her hands. "Please don't."

"Nat, why don't you don't want to be my sister-wife?" Laura whined playfully, struggling to keep the laughter out of her voice. "I'm a little offended."

"Absurdity aside, wouldn't that give us equal status in the family? Bonnie would still hate that."

"Oh, of course not, everyone knows the first wife is always the favorite," Laura said, still sipping her coffee confidently. Natasha slid a little lower in her seat, shaking her head in disbelief.

The mortified look on Clint's face when he had walked into the conversation just moments before was priceless.

It was several seconds after Natasha came out of her reverie before she recognized the prolonged silence that had followed her comment. She looked at her friend, seedling frozen in her hand midair. Laura was biting her bottom lip, head cocked to one side.

"Well, actually," she said, plopping another seedling into the ground, "you missed her by a few days. She drove down the day after the news broke. The kids were in school, thank God, because some of the things she said and insinuated were pretty foul. Clint walked in partway through her tirade, so that didn't help. He was pretty angry."

"I had no idea," Natasha said, hating that her relationship with the Bartons was having this impact. "What happened?"

"We ended up sort of caving. Said we hadn't known all of the stuff they were saying on the news and would discuss it. My mom seemed appeased when she left, but it's probably best that you don't see much of each other."

"I'm sorry you fought."

"It was going to happen sooner or later," Laura told her sadly. "She is wary of new people to the point of hostility even if she likes them, and she really doesn't like you." She shot Natasha a small smile and went back to planting.

Maybe, Natasha thought, it wasn't a bad idea to reconsider that sister-wives cover story in order to restore some harmony in the family.

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When Cooper arrived home on the school bus early that afternoon, he clamored into the kitchen to find Clint and Natasha sitting at the kitchen table. Lila had a ballet lesson after school and Laura was driving her, so it was just the three of them for the time being. Natasha had been browsing through flight options on her tablet and Clint sat reviewing plans for the tree house platform that he had been working on. Cooper and Lila had contributed their own, often conflicting, opinions about the design, but the one thing both shared was excitement at having one in the first place. Cooper looked excitedly at the sketches on the table in front of his father and pointed toward the front door.

"There's a ton of giant pieces of wood in your truck," he said.

"Yup," Clint replied. Natasha looked between them and set her tablet down.

"I hear you need giant pieces of wood to build a treehouse," she said matter-of-factly, half shrugging.

"No way!" Cooper exclaimed. "We're actually doing it?"

"Absolutely. Let's go take a ride," Clint had a twinkle in his eye when he smiled at Cooper, who was grinning ear-to-ear with enthusiasm.

They piled into the pickup and hauled the lumber and other supplies to the edge of the woods and about 100 yards. The trees grew so thick that Natasha and Clint carried the larger support beams between them the remaining 30 or so yards to the site Clint and Cooper had chosen. They stopped in front of a small clearing, at the center of which grew a sturdy oak tree. It was tall and unmarred, with a wide fork low in the trunk which left an ideal gap between the branches. She could easily see why they had chosen this tree.

She and Clint unloaded the rest of the beams and Cooper carried boxes of tools and hardware into the clearing. Unable to contain his enthusiasm, the boy took off at a sprint around the perimeter of the tree.

"We're gonna have a tree house, we're gonna have a tree house!" he half-screamed, half-shouted. Natasha and Clint smirked at each other, amused.

"Slow down, buddy, we're just doing the platform today," Clint chuckled. Cooper's enthusiasm was not dampened and he insisted on "helping" his dad carry the ladder, their final piece of equipment, from the truck to their workspace. Clint extended the ladder to its full length and set it up so the top of the 12-foot ladder leaned against one of the forks in the trunk.

"You want me to go up?" Natasha asked him, eyeing the ladder. He shook his head.

"Nah, I'll be good," Clint said. He secured the tool belt around his waist and began to climb. "Just spot me." Natasha stabilized the ladder with a foot and both hands while Cooper stood beside her. He clutched the plans for the treehouse in his hands and watched his father scale the ladder.

"Auntie Nat? Can I ask you something?" he said curiously when he thought Clint was out of earshot.

"Of course."

"If you worked for a spy group, does that mean you're a spy?"

"Yes, I was."

"So you're not one anymore?"

"Well, you can't be a secret agent if you give away the secret."

"Oh," Cooper said. He looked thoughtful. "But you're a famous secret agent spy now?"

"Sort of." Cooper frowned

"But if you're famous, you're not secret anymore?"

"That's right."

"Auntie Nat, I think you're doing the job wrong," Cooper said, shaking his head in exasperation. Natasha had to laugh.

"In Nat's defense, she blew her cover on purpose because it was the only way to bring the bad guys down," Clint called from several feet overhead. He was starting to climb down and she held the ladder steady.

"So you're a bad spy because you're a good spy? Or you're a good spy because you're a bad spy? I don't get it."

"Don't think about it too hard, buddy," Clint laughed, stepping off of the ladder and clapping Cooper on the back.

"But you still know spy stuff?" Cooper asked Natasha, his hazel eyes wide.

"Lots of spy stuff," she confirmed.

"_Nauchi menya_!" He said excitedly, before adding "_pozhaluysta_" to the request.

Natasha smiled at him. While both of the Barton kids were quick to pick up the bits of Russian that she taught them, Cooper was far more enthusiastic about making a directed effort to learn. Every time she taught him and Lila something new, he would write it down in a composition notebook he had devoted to the task. He also frequented the Russian learning channels on YouTube for new words and expressions to try out when Natasha visited. After one particularly inappropriate find online, she had instituted a "no using new Russian words until Auntie Nat approves first" rule, but otherwise there had been no issues. He was by no means fluent, neither child was, but Cooper now had a surprisingly large catalog of words and phrases at his disposal and would teach them to Lila if she asked.

"I don't remember what that means," Clint protested. "I don't like it when I can't understand what you're saying."

"That's the point," Cooper replied. He looked back at Natasha with an eyebrow raised in question. Clint gathered another round of tools before heading back up the ladder, Natasha still stabilizing the legs with her body. Once he was out of earshot, she turned back to Cooper.

"_Da, ya nauchu tebya_," she said slowly in a low voice, allowing him to process the words. "Only a little, and nothing violent without your parents' permission, okay?"

"_Spasibo_," he whispered a little louder than he should have in his excitement. "Will you teach me how to fight off a bully, like in _The Karate Kid_?"

"No fighting without your mom or dad's permission," she repeated, adding, "I've never heard of that, is it a movie?"

"Yep. How about picking locks?"

"Hmm, not yet," she said, wondering if she'd opened a Pandora's Box with this promise of spy lessons. "That's more advanced. We need to start with the basics."

"Like what?" Cooper asked excitedly, forgetting to keep his voice down. The conversation was punctuated by Clint's drill boring another hole into the solid trunk of the tree.

"Well, the first thing all spies learn is how to sneak around without anyone knowing they are there," Natasha told him. "Quick and quiet as a shadow."

"So no footsteps or creaky floors?"

"Exactly right."

"How do I learn?" Natasha looked into his eager face, eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, and had to smile. It was amazing to her how much joy and wonder kids could find in the world, and she was reminded of that each time she visited Cooper and Lila. That sense of childlike amazement was one of the many things she learned about kids from spending time at the farm, not having had a true childhood herself.

"Well, lots and lots of practice. While I am here, I'll give you some lessons, okay?"

"_Da_!" Cooper said.

"Hey Nat," Clint said from the top of the ladder, "When you're done teaching my son how to subvert his parents, I could use your help." Natasha rolled her eyes at him. "Cooper, will you hand me that bunch of rope we brought?" He nodded

"What does 'subvert' mean?" Cooper asked when he returned with the rope.

"It means breaking your parents' rules. My turn?" she called up to Clint, who nodded and started back down the ladder.

"Yep, it's all you, Widow," he smirked and made a sweeping gesture toward the ladder.

She slung the coil of rope over her head so it looped across her body and began to climb, reaching the top of the ladder and shimmying over one of the forks in the trunk easily. Before long she had rigged a rudimentary pulley system over both forks of the tree and Clint secured one of the long support beams to either end before climbing the ladder again. Together, they hoisted and bolted each beam into place.

By the time Lila and Laura found the in the woods two hours later, they had completely framed out, anchored, and braced the 8' x 10' platform that formed the foundation of the treehouse. Natasha's shoulder was starting to throb from the exertion and she was grateful to have the reprieve. Lila jumped up and down excitedly, her leotard and tights from ballet class seeming strangely mismatched to her jean jacket and sneakers.

"Wow, impressive progress," Laura noted. "You guys ready for dinner?"

"Absolutely, Mama," Clint said, starting down the ladder. When safely on the ground, he watched Natasha step across the platform frame with ease, her feet as secure between the 2-inch-wide beam surfaces as she was on solid ground, before climbing back down the ladder. They packed all of the supplies except the pulleys, which they'd left in place, into the pickup and all of them packed inside for the short drive back to the house.

Natasha had intended to help Laura get dinner on the table, but Lila had other plans. The 5-year-old grasped her hand and pulled her into the living room, excited to demonstrate all of the things she had learned in her ballet classes over the last two months. She looked apologetically at Laura, who shrugged and waved her on. She resolved to help with cleanup instead.

"Auntie Nat, pay attention," Lila told her as she got into position in front of her.

"Hey now, bossy pants," Laura called to her daughter gently from the kitchen.

"Pay attention, please," Lila corrected. She steered Natasha to the couch and motioned for her to sit before she took several steps backward onto an empty area of the floor. "First we learned the arm movements, the poor duh—" her voice trailed off and she frowned, trying to remember. For the first time, she saw that Lila got the same little crease between the eyebrows as Clint did when he was worried or frustrated.

"_Port du bras_," Natasha gently finished for her. She nodded to the little girl with encouragement. Lila squared her shoulders and hips and lifted her arms out in front of her torso, rounding them slightly.

"This one is _en avant_, that means 'forward,'" Lila said, her face reflecting intense concentration. She gracefully moved her arms above her head, keeping her shoulders flat. "This one is _en haut_ which means 'high up.'"

"You have good form on this one," Natasha said approvingly. "Your shoulders are perfect, nice and flat." Lila beamed before regaining her concentration.

"And this is _en bas_, down low," she said, lowering her arms so they rested at her sides, still slightly rounded, palms facing up slightly toward her hips. Lila demonstrated first through fifth positions for Natasha and then, going back to first position, said, "today we learned demi plies."

Lila squared her heels and held her arms curved over her head. She pursed her lips in concentration, bent her knees, kept her back straight, sank down a few inches, and rose again. On her second plie, she started to sink down but her arms went too far behind her head and she lost her balance, stepping out of position and flailing her arms to regain her footing.

"Oops," she said.

"It's okay," Natasha coaxed, "go on and try again."

Lila went back into first position and Natasha stood, walking around behind the little girl. When Lila sank into plie, she wobbled. Natasha saw that her back wasn't quite straight and her arms were a little too far behind her head. No wonder she'd lost her balance.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," Lila nodded. Natasha crouched down beside her and gently pushed two fingers onto Lila's lower spine, resulting in her reflexively straightening her posture and sending her shoulders back.

"Stretch your back up nice and tall, all the way up through the top of your head," she said, touching the crown of Lila's head. She then brought Lila's arms slightly forward. "And when your arms are _en haut_ like that, make sure you can just see your fingers wiggling." She wiggled her own fingers in front of Lila's eyes and the girl giggled. "That's how you know your arms aren't too far back."

"Ok. Can I try again?" Lila said, and she was bending her knees again before Natasha had the chance to speak. This time, she was able to do two, then three, then four plies in a row.

"That's so good, Lila!" Lila's face split into a grin at the praise.

"That's way easier! I could do this all day!" She said happily, continuing to plie away.

"You can do that until dinnertime," Clint said, he and Cooper coming into the room after washing up for dinner. Clint set the table and Laura set a pot of chili down on a trivet on the table.

"Nah, let her do that and I'll eat her dessert," Cooper teased. The threat from her brother caused Lila to stop practicing, stick her tongue out at Cooper, and scamper over to her usual chair at the table.

"Nat, would you grab the cornbread out of the oven?" Laura asked, beginning to ladle chili into the bowls. Natasha pulled the corn muffins from the oven, tipped them into the cloth-lined bread basket, and brought them over to the table along with the butter bell and a knife. Clint set sour cream and cheese on the table and grinned when Laura set a bowl of steaming chili in front of him.

"Chow time," he grinned.

Natasha smiled back at him. She ate so many of her meals in solitude that she didn't think she'd ever take these dinners with the Bartons for granted. There was so much comfort in the ease of the routine and these were the times when she most felt like a part of the family.

"Auntie Nat helped me with my plies," Lila said proudly.

"Did she?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow at Natasha. He looked sideways at Laura, who gave him a subtle shrug of confirmation.

Clint knew better than anyone about the role her ballet training had played in her youth, and about how much she relied on dancing to get her through sleepless nights and other times of stress. Natasha rarely considered it dancing, though. She generally thought of what she did as "practice," "training," or "drills." Ballet wasn't something Natasha had ever alluded to in front of the kids, so Clint and Laura had followed her lead in not mentioning it. Lila's request earlier in the year for ballet lessons had simply been coincidental, her parents attributing it to the normal girlhood dream of becoming a ballerina.

"Yep," Lila told them before turning to face Natasha and asking, "How do you know how to do plies?" Clint and Laura stilled, a change that went unnoticed by the children but Natasha knew them too well to overlook it.

"I had lots of ballet lessons when I was younger," she said simply, eating a bite of the hot stew. Lila looked delighted by her answer.

"Can you show me?"

Natasha's mind drifted to the two sets of ballet shoes in her duffel bag. She was a light traveler overall, but when she had taken off from New York she'd found she couldn't leave her weapons, tactical gear, or the ballet slippers behind. She'd had little room left for clothes and toiletries, but she could pick those up anywhere.

But the issue ran far deeper than simply whether or not she had shoes. She hadn't performed any of her ballet steps in front of another living soul since Madame B. in the Red Room. Not even Clint had seen her dance, and she was certain that since defecting from the KGB, only Laura — and Lila, who had probably been too young to recall it — had ever even seen her wearing her ballet shoes

She wasn't ready for other people to see her practice, even people she considered family.

Clint and Laura picked up on Natasha's hesitation and Laura jumped in at once.

"Oh, no, honey," she said. "Nat's shoulder is hurt, remember?" Natasha gave Laura a look of gratitude.

"Aww, okay," Lila said, sounding disappointed. "Maybe next time?"

"Maybe," Natasha agreed. Lila, seeming satisfied with her answer, went back to crumbling a cornbread muffin into her chili.

After dinner, Natasha and Clint cleaned up and the others scattered, Lila continued to practice ballet drills and Laura headed to the porch to read. The clinking of dishes was the only sound that accompanied them for several minutes before Clint turned to look at his partner.

"Where'd Cooper go?" he asked, handing Natasha a handful of silverware to dry and beginning to scrub out the soup pot.

"Probably chasing the barn cats," she said with a smirk, putting the spoons away. Clint raised an eyebrow at her.

"Chasing cats? Why in the—"

"Spy lessons," she told him by way of explanation.

"Spy lessons?"

"Don't worry, nothing dangerous. Lesson one is stealth. I told him the best way to practice that is trying to sneak up on the cats."

Clint actually laughed out loud at this, imagining his 8-year-old son trying to run around the barn perimeter after the cats.

"Should keep him busy for a while," she said, and Clint shook his head in amusement.

"Amen to that." He handed her the clean soup pot and she began to dry it. "Laura tells me you're thinking of going back to Russia soon." Natasha continued to dry the soup pot, not speaking, but Clint read the affirmation in her silence.

"Yes."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"It's my next step," she told him. She put the clean pot back into the cupboard where it belonged and leaned back against the counter, peering at him. "I have to figure out who I am without SHIELD, without the KGB or any of my covers—"

"You're my partner," he said firmly, drying his hands and facing her with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Am I, still?" she asked quietly, avoiding his gaze. "Without SHIELD?" He paused.

"We're still friends, and you're Laura's friend, and you're an aunt to the kids—"

"That's who I am to all of you," she pointed out, shifting her weight to cross her ankles and giving herself a moment to not look at Clint. "I need to figure out who_ I_ _am_. Going to my home country is the best place to start."

Clint blew a long, low breath through pursed lips and uncrossed his arms, recognizing the glint of resolve in Natasha's bright green eyes. He knew there was no way to convince her not to go. She was simply stubborn that way.

"When would you go?"

"Tomorrow, maybe the day after."

"Kids are gonna be disappointed," Clint told her with a shrug, playing his last good card. Natasha recognized his ploy for what it was and eyed him sideways.

"Low blow, Barton, but it's not gonna work this time."

"It was worth a shot," he said, shrugging. "C'mon, let's go see what everyone else is up to."

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Natasha was surprised when Cooper asked her to tuck him into bed that night. This struck her as strange; she remembered Laura telling her that Cooper declared himself 'far too old to be tucked in' after finishing the first grade last year. She suspected that Cooper wanted to talk to her alone and her hunch turned out to be right.

She knocked softly and opened the door to find him sitting up in bed with an open book in his lap. She approached and sat on the edge of his bed and when he closed the book she saw that the cover read _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_.

"Re-reading the series?" she asked, taking the book from him and looking at it for a moment before setting it on the bedside table.

"Yep," he said with a grin. "Remember when you used to read them to me?"

"I do," she said, smiling fondly at the memory. He had loved the world of Harry Potter so much and talked about the books so frequently that she'd actually downloaded the audiobooks in order to keep up. The seven-part series had entertained her through months worth of morning runs. "Before you got too old for anyone to read to you."

"Well, I will never be too old for Harry Potter," he declared.

"Speaking of which, I thought you were too old to be tucked in at night," she said, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

"I _am_, I just wanted to talk to you," he confessed. "I mean, without mom and dad." Natasha nodded in understanding and shifted her position, folding one leg under her and keeping the other foot on the floor as she turned to face him better.

"I see, what about?"

Cooper suddenly dropped his head and started down at his hands. He looked sheepish.

"Sorry I was scared of you yesterday," he said, still examining his hands, resting folded in his lap. Her face softened instantly.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Cooper," she told him.

"I was not very nice to you."

"Oh _bratik_, you don't have to be nice all the time," she kept her voice level but held back the urge to chuckle. Natasha reached and rested her hand on his shoulder. "It can be scary to find out bad things about people you trust."

"Has that happened to you?" he asked, raising his head to look at her with curiosity.

"Lots of times," she told him honestly. Natasha thought back to the previous week and the betrayal that came with learning many trusted SHIELD colleagues were Hydra all along, or when she'd learned her most trusted KGB handler had been the one to abduct her from her parents as a child. She could still clearly recall the fear she had as an adolescent after finding out Madame B. did not simply send the Red Room students back home when they failed out of the program.

"Really?"

"Really."

"What did you do?"

"Well," she began, "I had to decide whether the bad stuff outweighed the good stuff. When the bad parts were stronger, I tried not to be around the person anymore. When the good things were stronger, we stayed friends."

Cooper sat with this for several seconds, considering her. He pushed some of his sandy hair out of his face.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"All that bad stuff, is that why you have nightmares?"

Natasha was genuinely taken aback by this. She had always been meticulously careful not to mention her nightmares within earshot of the kids, ever. The few flashbacks she'd had in their presence had been shorter and much less severe in the past couple of years; she'd been able to manage them by simply retreating to her room or going for a long run, sometimes with Clint or Laura around to help cover for her.

Natasha opened her mouth to speak, intending to deny her nightmares and flashbacks, but she looked into the little boy's face and knew that he would see through that lie. He had proven to her in the past couple of days that he had, indeed, grown up more than she'd given him credit for.

"Yes," she nodded.

"I thought so," he said grimly. "Dad gets them too."

She blinked at him and kept her face carefully level. Of course. Clint had been through his fair share of horrors, too. Sometimes when she was here, it was very easy to forget that she wasn't the only person in the house with a traumatic past. They had spent enough time in close quarters and on long missions together to learn each others' triggers, troubled habits, and the vices each turned to when they failed to outrun their own demons.

"He does," she affirmed. It wasn't a question. Cooper gave her a knowing look.

"Sometimes, when something reminds him of a bad thing he's seen, the nightmares happen while he's awake. That happens to you too, right? When you go all stiff and staring?"

"Yes," she said, swallowing hard. "You are far too smart for your own good, you know that?"

"Well, I am eight now," he said matter-of-factly, sitting up taller in bed. "I am old enough to know things." That made Natasha smile.

"You know what I know?" she asked. He shook his head, shaggy hair swishing back and forth in front of his face. "I know it's past time for eight-year-olds to be in bed."

"Aww, come on," he said, eyes wide and pleading. "You're no fun."

"Never said I was. Go on," she said. Instead of lying down, Cooper shifted his blankets, sat up on his knees, and hugged her.

"_Spokoynoy nochi_, Auntie Nat," he said. She hugged him tightly, rubbing slow circles over his back. "_Ya lublyu vas_."

Natasha didn't think she'd ever fully get used to hearing that in any language. Tears began to well in her eyes and, unbidden, Madame B's voice whispered _'Love is for children'_ in the back of her mind. She brushed the thought aside. She pulled back enough to smooth his hair back and drop a gentle kiss onto his forehead.

"I love you, too, sweetheart," she whispered.

He slid back under the covers and Natasha switched off the lamp. She was almost to the door when she heard Cooper's voice, muffled as a result of speaking from under the blanket.

"You know, you're like Snape," he said in the darkness. "He made lots of bad choices and was friends with mean people when he was young, but turned out to be one of the bravest, best good guys in the end. And he was a spy, too."

"Well, there are certainly worse people to be like," she said quietly.

"You would have definitely been in Gryffindor though."

"Goodnight, Cooper," she said quietly, stepping out of his bedroom and pulling the door closed behind her.

When Natasha arrived back in the kitchen, Clint and Laura were sitting at the kitchen table with their heads bent toward each other, talking in low voices.

"Hey, Nat," Clint said, spotting her first. "Cooper okay?"

"He seemed fine."

"Did he… did he want something in particular?" Laura's speech faltered. Natasha understood the unspoken question belying her words. Clint pulled out the chair beside him at the table and she sat, arms crossed on the table, facing them.

"Just wanted to talk," she told them, a small frown on her face. "He says I'm like Snape, from the Harry Potter books." Clint laughed out loud at this, but Laura remained quietly pensive.

"Leave it to Cooper to compare everything in his life to something from Harry Potter," Clint grinned.

"He drew the comparison so he could make sense of a complicated situation," Laura said softly, smiling. She was proud of her eldest child and the person he was becoming. "Smart kid."

"He got that from you," Clint told his wife.

"Without a doubt," Natasha agreed. Clint made a face at her and she raised both eyebrows at him in an expression of feigned innocence.

A minute passed in silence, but when Natasha made to stand and get her tablet from the other room, Laura cleared her throat.

"Wait a second, Nat," she said. "Have you decided when you're leaving?" Natasha nodded, hands folded in her lap.

"Day after tomorrow." She saw her friends exchange a significant glance and, sensing there was something more on their minds, she added, "why?"

Laura gave a short, almost inaudible sigh and looked to her husband. He sat forward to face Natasha.

"We talked about it —" As Clint spoke, Laura reached for his hand across the table as a gesture of support. "— and I want to go with you. To Russia, I mean. If you want," Clint offered, looking sincerely as though he would like to go with her.

"It would make us both feel better to know you wouldn't be alone," Laura added.

Both of them looked so genuinely earnest and concerned that for a moment, Natasha really considered it. Having Clint there to help with her search, to watch her back, to draw less attention than she would as a woman traveling alone, all of those things would be a tremendous help. Logically, it made sense.

Looking at them, these two people that she loved like siblings, a part of her wanted to say yes.

"No," she said without pretense. "I need to do this alone."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she said resolutely. "I'll be fine, Clint."

Natasha could see the worry in his eyes and knew why it ran so deep. Both knew that she likely wouldn't find her parents alive at the end fo this journey. She rested his hand on top of his calloused one and squeezed reassuringly.

"It's okay," she said, first to Clint and then Laura. "I need to go myself." She removed her hand from Clint's.

"Well, at least promise you'll call," Laura insisted, but Clint was shaking his head even after the words left her mouth.

"She won't."

He knew Natasha too well to expect anything else.

Even Natasha would be surprised when, one evening two weeks later, she'd pull the burner phone out of her pocket. That day, she would arrive at a town cemetery near Volgograd to find two little gravestones by a chain-link fence, shrouded with weeds and so weathered one of the names was unreadable. She would confirm the date of interment with the tiny cemetery's manager, pull some weeds, leave some flowers, and leave feeling just as hollow as when she arrived.

She would call the Barton's home number after getting back to her motel that evening because yes, she wanted to share what she'd found, but even more than that she wanted to hear their voices and know they were still there, safe and sound on the little farm on the other side of the world despite how long and exhausting her day had been.

She knew that she only had what she had while she had it.

Natasha did not want to take her family for granted.

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Fin.

I'm enjoying writing this story, and I certainly hope those of you who have read the story have enjoyed it, too. Thanks to the few of you who have reviewed, I truly appreciate all of your feedback. The number of follows/favorites definitely outweighs the reviews and I see all of you silent folks, so thank you.

It's never too late to review!

Again, please look for the next update (probably late next week) under the title **"Seven times Natasha visited the Barton farm, and one time she didn't."** It will be delayed because of the holiday.

Have an excellent week and happy Independence Day to you Americans!


	9. Chapter 9

Readers, I am sorry this is later than anticipated. I went away without my computer for the holiday, which slowed things down, but I appreciate your continued interest.

This particular visit is set sort of during Age of Ultron. Based on the hints in the film, there had to be about 3 months between Clint getting back home from Sokovia and Nat getting the video of Nathaniel (with a social smile). You'll also notice that this chapter contains more from Clint's and Laura's POVs.

SPOILERS: As usual, spoilers follow the MCU timeline and this chapter contains spoilers through Age of Ultron. There are no flash forwards, although if you haven't seen Endgame by now, shame on you.

Disclaimer: If you recognize anything, i don't own it.

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Summer 2015 — Part I

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When Natasha arrived back at the farm to meet baby Nathaniel, it was her first time back since the Avengers' brief repose during the hunt for Ultron. It felt like ages had passed since that last visit, but really it had only been six weeks.

The battle against Ultron and his army in Sokovia had left significant destruction in its wake. Natasha, Steve, and Tony had spent much of the month that followed working with the Stark Relief Foundation and what was left of SHIELD to feed, clothe, and house the displaced people and to start rebuilding. Even the few whose homes were spared were harmed by the ruined infrastructure, unable to get clean water, food, or other supplies. It was a mess. By the time the three of them left, Wanda had taken the lead coordinating relief efforts as a poorly masked way to channel the grief of losing her twin.

Natasha had headed back stateside with Tony and Steve, landing at Avengers Tower in New York just as Laura was going into labor. She had initially been gripped with worry because Laura's due date was still a month away, but her friend had calmly reassured her—from her hospital bed over video chat—that 36 weeks was "pretty much full term" and that she should "try to chill out."

Nathaniel Pietro Barton arrived into the world on June 2 at 5:37 AM, stunned into silence at the sudden and drastic change in his world, Laura's mother Bonnie capturing the moments following the birth on video. Nathaniel was placed onto Laura's chest and the obstetrician had helped Clint, fingers trembling with, to cut the umbilical cord before two people in scrubs carried him over to the infant warmer. He was wrinkled and purple and covered in mucus, blood, and a thick whitish film in places, but the infant didn't seem bothered. He just lay there, eyes open and squinting in the bright light, eerily silent for over a minute. It wasn't until one of the nurses dried his body vigorously with a towel and tapped the bottom of his tiny foot that he finally drew a startled breath and began to wail.

Natasha had watched that video of her nephew—her namesake—with fascination. Later in the evening Clint had video-called her and Laura held the tiny creature up to the camera for her to see, pink and clean and sleeping soundly in a onesie with the words "Hello, World!" printed onto the front. Laura lifted one of his arms to wave at Natasha through the camera.

"Nathaniel, look, it's your Auntie Nat," Laura said, looking exhausted but content. Clint would never forget the expression on Natasha's face as she looked at the newborn with a tear slipping unbidden down her cheek.

"Widow, are you _crying_?" a familiar cocky voice said from out of the frame.

"Shut up, Tony."

"Nat, you okay?" Steve's concerned voice came from offscreen until he slid into a seat next to Natasha. He looked at the screen of her tablet and grinned. "Oh, wow, congratulations!"

Unfortunately, between finishing the Sokovia paperwork and moving the entire Avengers operation upstate, it would be a couple weeks before she could meet Nathaniel in person. Natasha and Steve had been living at the Avengers tower in the city full-time ever since regaining their bearings after SHIELD fell the year before, which meant they were both moving as well. Steve had taken up the mantle of captaining the team and Natasha had become an integral leader after returning from her hiatus in Russia. Both had decided to move into the living quarters at the upstate facility. It would still be a few weeks before it was fully operational but they'd still had to vacate the tower. Natasha had packed her few personal belongings, deposited them in her new apartment, and stayed just long enough to get some of the essentials up and running before she could head out to the farm.

Natasha arrived at the farmhouse to find Cooper and Lila playing a beanbag toss game on the front lawn. They hugged her happily before Cooper took her bag to put in her usual room and Lila led her by the hand into the house, chattering excitedly. Clint, who had picked her up at the airport, watched them disappear inside with a slow shake of the head. The kids hadn't even spared a glance in his direction.

"Shhhhh," Cooper whispered to Natasha when the three of them crossed the threshold.

"The baby might be asleep," Lila whispered loudly in explanation. "He sleeps a lot, but he gets super loud when he cries."

"He screams bloody murder just for being woken up or getting changed." Cooper rolled his eyes, clearly disapproving of his infant brother's dramatic behavior. They walked quietly down the hall and into her room, Cooper set the small suitcase on the floor and sat on the bed. Lila closed the door and then flung herself down beside her brother with a huge sigh. Natasha suppressed a laugh at her theatrics.

"Being quiet all the time is _hard_," she said, sounding exasperated beyond her 6 years. "I love Nathaniel but all he does is sleep and cry."

"He mostly just looks and acts like an angry alien. Mom and Dad say it's a good thing it's summertime so that at least we can go outside and play."

"I see," Natasha said, looking into the two kids' faces. "That treehouse must be getting some solid use." At this, their faces lit up.

"Yep!" Cooper said. "It's our baby-free zone."

"We even have games and snacks in there now"

"Plus a lot of our spy stuff," Cooper added in a whisper. Natasha grinned. Since both of the kids had started going through what Clint called the 'secret agent phase' last year, she had been fueling the interest by providing minor spy lessons and sending little trinkets for them when she could. They were simple things, like walkie-talkies that looked like wristwatches and plastic glasses with night vision capability, but based on Laura's texts when a new package arrived in the mail, both Cooper and Lila were overjoyed with each new toy.

"I'm excited to see what you've done with the treehouse since last time," she told them earnestly. Lila frowned.

"You mean the time before," she corrected. "Last time you were here for like 8 hours."

"Yeah, doesn't really count if she didn't spend the night," Cooper interjected.

"It does so count, she was still here," Lila insisted. Then her attention shifted in the way young children often do, and she reached out toward Natasha, her fingers brushing lightly at the spot below the hollow of her throat where the golden arrow necklace rested. "You still wear it!" she said happily.

"Whenever I can," she said. She didn't just say it to make Lila and Cooper pleased, she really did wear it consistently whenever she was not on mission. Although since Lila did comment on the necklace whenever Natasha visited the farmhouse, there was no chance she'd ever walk through the front door without it.

Just then there was a soft knock at the door. Natasha pulled it open to see Clint standing there with his eyebrows raised.

"What, I'm not cool enough to be invited to the secret meeting?" he asked.

"Nope," Natasha said, smirking at him and making Cooper and Lila giggle. Clint feigned an expression of hurt and mimed a knife twisting in his heart.

"That hurt, Nat."

"Truth hurts," she quipped back, jabbing him playfully in the ribs with her elbow.

"Well if you're done with your covert pow-wow, there's someone out here who wants to meet you," he smiled and turned back down the hall. A silence fell between them, Cooper and Lila exchanging grim looks.

"Aunt Nat? You're still going to hang out with me and Lila, right? I mean, since the baby is here now…" Cooper trailed off nervously.

"Of course, _bratik_," she said. "In fact, I may or may not have something really fun planned for the three of us later this week." She arched one eyebrow and smiled mischievously at the kids, whose faces were now alight with inquiry and excitement. She left the room with a predictable chorus of "what is it, what _is_ it?" trailing her all the way into the living room.

Clint was several steps ahead of her, leaning down to where Laura sat on the couch and taking a tiny bundle of blankets from her arms. Laura looked around her husband when she heard footsteps and she grinned at the sight of her friend.

"Nat, hi," she said, standing and embracing her. Natasha smiled, glad to see that Laura looked so well. After so many months it was a little strange to hug her without the pregnant belly in the way. They pulled apart and Laura kept her hands on Natasha's back. "How are you, honey?" Natasha shrugged one shoulder.

"Better," she said truthfully, because it was an answer she could manage. Laura read her expression easily and nodded in understanding.

"We'll have some tea later, okay?" she said quietly. Natasha nodded with a small and grateful smile, knowing that tea meant quiet downtime and the opportunity to talk, if she wanted.

Clint was making his way toward them, his usually confident strides much shorter and more cautious with the baby in his arms. Laura smiled and stepped to the side to make room for her husband. Natasha stood stock-still, seemingly frozen. If it hadn't been for the subtle softness and wonder in her facial expression that intermingled with the stiffness and fear, Laura might have thought she was having a flashback.

Then he was placing the baby into Natasha's arms. She held him a little awkwardly at first, navigating her arms and hands around Clint's to ensure the infant's head and neck were supported. All at once, the baby's warm weight was nestled in her arms and his large, strangely blue eyes were blinking up at her.

"Nathaniel, meet your Auntie Nat," Clint said. He and Laura were beaming at her, Clint's arm around Laura's shoulders. Cooper and Lila stood on tiptoes, trying to see their little brother's reaction.

"Still looks the same to me," Cooper said, shrugging. "C'mon, Lila." The two of them scampered back out the front door, leaving the rest in silence.

Natasha looked down into Nathaniel's face. She marveled at how his lips, nose, and chin were so tiny, so intricately formed, so _perfect_. The helix of his right ear was crimped downward, just a little, like it had been squashed a bit while he was still growing inside the womb. His little chin sat just far enough back that his upper lip stuck out a little ahead of the lower one in a pout. Nathaniel was quiet but alert, and he blinked and gazed up at her through impossibly long eyelashes with his huge deep-blue irises. His fine, downy hair tickled her fingers where his head rested against her hand. It was the first time Natasha could ever remember feeling so entirely captivated.

She didn't know how long she stood there in silence, just staring at the baby as he squinted back at her.

"_Dobro pozhalovat, mir malyshko_," she whispered, a belated welcome into the world. She looked up at Clint and Laura, looking contentedly back at her. "He's amazing," she told them.

"We think so," Laura agreed.

"Are they always this small?"

"More or less," Laura said, but Clint frowned.

"Hey now, give him a break, he was 4 weeks early!" he jumped in defensively.

"He regained his birth weight in a week," Laura pointed out. "We are well on our way to having a chubby baby."

Nathaniel stretched, somehow wriggling a tiny hand out of his swaddled blanket and brought it to the corner of his mouth, sucking on his fist, still staring up at Natasha. It wasn't long before he started to squirm and fuss quietly.

"Uh—" Natasha began uncertainly, looking to Laura for instructions. She was already reaching for her son with a smile.

"Speaking of which, looks like he's ready to eat. Here, I'll take him," she said, helping Natasha to hand the baby back to her. "Be back in a bit," she said, smiling over her shoulder at them and disappearing up the stairs.

"Wow, Clint," she said, lost for words.

"Yeah," he said. "I'd say he's a damn good reason to retire. They all are." Clint stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders.

Natasha nodded her head a fraction of an inch. She found she couldn't quite meet his gaze.

As much as she hated how much it affected her, Clint's retirement was still a bit of a sore subject. None of it had been a surprise, ever since he'd told her about Laura's pregnancy he had been making plans to cut back once the baby came. She hadn't wanted to believe it at first; after all, Clint had cut back his hours and tried out partial retirement before now. Something about this time, though, and the finality in his face and in his voice when he talked about the future, told Natasha that his choice was immutable.

Their close relationship had grown from a friendship that started as a partnership rooted deeply in the profound trust in, and understanding of, each other. What would happen when that partnership was gone?

Natasha blinked at a spot just over Clint's shoulder before she turned away, crossing toward the door to see where Cooper and Lila had gone. She felt his hand catch her shoulder before she could go two paces and she stopped.

"Nat," he said, "What's going on?"

"It's nothing," she said, because she wanted it to be nothing.

"You want to talk about it now or later?" he asked. He took a couple of strategic strides so that he stood directly in front of her.

"Nothing to talk about." There was a tiny brittle note in her voice that betrayed her.

"Later it is, then." Clint reluctantly let go of Natasha's shoulder and before he could blink she was out the front door, presumably to find the older kids.

His worry for his partner following his official retirement had not been insignificant. Natasha's life largely revolved around her work, and so Clint had worried about what would happen when he disappeared from that part of her life. It wasn't that _he_ was critically important, but he knew how much it meant for Natasha to have a close confidant or two in her daily life. He was relieved that Steve Rogers would still be working with her and living nearby.

Steve and Natasha had become close since SHIELD had fallen and despite Laura's quips to the contrary, Clint was pleased that she'd found another trusted partner. That was especially true now. The last several weeks must have been terrible for Natasha. Wanda ripping open old scars in her mind, the devastation in Sokovia, Banner disappearing, he knew it had to be affecting her more than she was letting on. He still had no idea exactly what there was between Nat and Banner. After Laura had mentioned something the day the Avengers came to the house for a respite, Clint had scrutinized their interactions a little more closely.

He would never admit to Laura that she had been right, both about the existence of their relationship and the fact that Clint had been completely oblivious to it. A second blow to his ego came with the realization that Steve had known for a while. He had recognized the change in Natasha's demeanor around Banner long before Clint had. Granted, Steve had lived in close proximity to Natasha, Banner, and Tony for almost a year now, but Clint was supposed to be her best friend. Instead, he'd barely been present in the periphery of her life lately.

Despite the understandable preoccupation with his retirement and Nathaniel's birth, he knew he had been a completely crap friend to her recently, and as much as he knew she understood, Clint wondered if he could make it up to her.

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Natasha appreciated the routine that had developed around her arrivals to the farm for visits. Usually that first day was all about being together, catching up, relaxing and enjoying each other's company before Natasha integrated herself easily into the family routine for the duration of her stay. There were always greetings followed by quality time playing with Cooper and Lila, then a meal together. Then came some kind of wind-down time if it was a school night or, the kids' favorite, a bonfire out back complete with music and s'mores. The time that she valued most were the hours after the kids went to sleep, when she could sit with Clint and Laura on the back patio with tea or a beer and they could really catch up and decompress from whatever life had thrown at them since the last time they'd been together.

She had volunteered to help Clint prepare dinner in order to allow Laura to retreat upstairs for a nap. Nathaniel slept in a pack-n-play in a far corner of the kitchen while she and Clint chose one of the many casseroles stacked in the refrigerator and freeze to reheat for dinner.

"This is the Midwest, that's what people do," he'd shrugged when Natasha found the stack baking dishes in the fridge. "When someone is born, gets sick, or dies, you make a casserole."

"Why?"

"One less thing to worry about, I guess," Clint said, lifting the lid on one dish and sniffing cautiously. Whatever its contents, he deemed it acceptable. He withdrew the dish and handed it to Natasha, who shrugged and went to preheat the oven.

Laura slept all through dinner. Cleanup was largely conducted by Cooper and Lila, who'd started to take on more household chores in the last few months. Nathaniel woke and started to fuss just as the older kids began to ask about having a fire out back.

"Yep, you guys grab the s'mores supplies, find us some good roasting sticks, and we'll be out there in half an hour. Nate needs dinner, too," Clint had told them. Natasha was confused about how they'd feed the baby with Laura still asleep until Clint pulled out a small bottle from the back of the fridge, looked at the date scribbled on the side, and began to run it under warm water at the sink.

"So we're calling him Nate?"

"Yeah," Clint shrugged. "Seemed natural. And this way, there will never be a doubt who he was named for." He shot her a goofy grin and she smiled back. Nathaniel started to cry in earnest and she leaned down to pick him up, moving slowly and gingerly to the point where she was holding him a little awkwardly, but too afraid of harming the baby to adjust her positioning. Clint started to laugh.

"What?"

"You are handling him like he's a live land mine. He's a baby, not a bomb."

"No," she said under her breath, "those I'm comfortable with."

"Babies aren't as fragile as they look. As long as you support his head, don't drop him, and don't shake him, you won't break him. Here." He set the now warmed milk on the counter as Natasha stepped over toward him with the baby. Nathaniel had quieted a little since being picked up, but was still fussing. Clint helped her to adjust her positioning so that the baby's soft head rested in the crook of her left arm. "That's better," he said.

"Thanks."

"Sure. You're going to need this, too." He tucked a cloth under the baby's chin and pushed the bottle into Natasha's right hand.

"Oh no, I have no idea how to feed a baby," she protested, Nathaniel's cry intensifying.

"You will in about 5 seconds. Just put the bottle in his mouth and make sure he doesn't choke." Natasha had started to bring the bottle to the baby's mouth but yanked her hand back at Clint's last statement.

"What?" Her eyes widened slightly, hand holding the bottle still frozen midair.

"I'm kidding, just stick it in there."

"That's what she said," Natasha muttered under her breath. Clint laughed out loud.

"You have been spending far too much time with Stark."

Nathaniel went for the bottle eagerly and Natasha found that this was not only easy, but oddly satisfying. When the baby had drained the contents of the bottle, Clint showed her how to burp him by sitting the baby forward while supporting his head and patting him on the back. When he was comfortably asleep again, Clint strapped his tiny son into a baby carrier on his chest and they went outside to help Cooper and Lila with the fire.

By the time Laura came outside to join them, the fire was just getting to the perfect stage for the first round of s'mores, Lila was holding an alert Nathaniel in one of the camp chairs, and Cooper and Clint were playing air guitar to an AC/DC song playing over his bluetooth speakers. Natasha passed Clint a bottle of beer and looked around when she heard Laura approach. Laura pointed an accusing finger between her and Clint.

"Four hours!" she exclaimed. "You two let me sleep for four hours."

"Why does she sound mad about that?" Cooper asked his father, whose hands were raised in a gesture of surrender.

"I think it's actually been four and a half," Natasha smirked at her friend, checking her watch. Laura glared.

"That's because I slept so long without waking to feed the baby that my boobs were killing me. Had to pump before I came out here." Cooper and Lila made sounds of disgust in response. She went to Clint and gave him a soft kiss. "Thank you, I needed that," she said.

"Then you're angry because…?"

"Because Nat just got here!" She turned toward Natasha with an apology etched on her face. "I promised we'd talk and I feel like I'm ignoring you."

"I thought you were past treating me like a guest?" Natasha said, one eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. "I'm not going anywhere soon, there will be plenty of time to catch up." Laura did not have a response to this, so she turned back to Clint and ran a hand up his arm.

"You did remember to feed the baby, right?" Her voice was light and teasing rather than accusatory.

"Oh, I didn't feed the baby," he said seriously. "Nat did. Burped him, too."

"Awww, good for you!" Laura said, grinning at her proudly. "We'll make a mama out of you yet."

Natasha recognized the compliment and gave her friend a small smile.

"I think you'd make a great mom, Auntie Nat," Lila said seriously, and then added, "plus then we'd have cousins to play with."

"And I think it's about time for s'mores!" Clint said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously. "Coop, did you find some good sticks for us?"

As he sidestepped past Natasha, she felt him briefly and discreetly squeeze her shoulder. She found she was grateful for the gesture.

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* * *

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"Talk," Laura commanded, setting a hot mug of tea down in front of Natasha at the picnic table on the back patio. She sat beside her at the table. Clint was finishing getting the older kids into bed and would be joining them in a few minutes.

The weather was too nice to sit inside, and the sounds of chirping insects and intermittent blinking of fireflies made the scene seem idyllic. Clint had strung up several new strands of outdoor lights that gently illuminated the space with a yellow-white glow. Nathaniel was nestled contentedly over Natasha's left chest, head resting on her shoulder, fast asleep. Clint was right: the more she held him, the more comfortable she felt.

"What about?"

"Whatever's on your mind. A lot's happened since I last saw you, and we didn't get to talk much while you were in the middle of hunting Ultron."

"I wasn't in the best headspace then," she said by way of explanation.

"No, you seemed pretty shaken," Laura observed gently. "Clint told me a little about what happened, with the Maximoff girl bringing up everyone's nightmares." She paused, giving Natasha the chance to interject, but she said nothing. "I know there's no shortage of those in your past. Are you doing okay?"

"'I'm fine," she said automatically. She noticed Laura's cut-the-crap expression and amended, "I'm better. It's just been a rough few weeks." A few beats of silence passed as each sipped their tea. Nathaniel remained asleep on Natasha's shoulder.

"Have you heard from Dr. Banner?"

Natasha shook her head. She hadn't heard a damn thing since Hulk had cut off radio communication on the quinjet. Tracking Bruce Banner had been a small part of her job when she'd first started working for SHIELD all those years ago. She was familiar with his pattern of complete radio silence after his destructive transformations, but she sensed this time was different. Hulk seemed more in control of his decision making lately, and she'd noticed the change even when he'd looked at her through the video screen. Even if he _had_ transformed back, would Bruce reach out to contact her at all? Their last meeting had ended badly, and it was he was still angry with her for forcing his transformation?

"What happened between you two?" Laura asked quietly. Her face was filled with such concern that Natasha wanted to confide in her, to tell her everything that was going on.

So she did. She told Laura about how they'd become friends while living at the Avengers tower in New York after the Chitauri invasion. Both tended to seek solace and fresh air on the roof of the tower and had run into each other there on a number of sleepless nights. Instead of keeping to themselves, they started sitting together when they were both in the kitchen for a meal. An easy friendship developed between them and at some point, Natasha found herself wandering between his usual nighttime haunts when she was unable to sleep, intentionally seeking out his company.

Natasha had known that Bruce was somewhat smitten with her. After all, she was exceptionally good at reading expressions and mannerisms. The connection between the two of them became obvious to the rest of the team when the Lullaby was developed, largely by accident (and very much against Bruce's wishes, as it involved knowingly exposing her to an unpredictable Hulk). Steve had been the first to gently nudge her on the issue, which she initially denied and resisted. There came a point when even she was unable to lie to herself about the inexplicable happiness, profound trust, and desire for intimacy that Bruce could stir in her with just one of his shy smiles. She felt like she'd been thrown into emotional territory so new and strange that for the longest time she hadn't known what to do about it, if anything at all.

Then the opportunity had come at the party celebrating the re-capture of Loki's scepter and had started with Bruce teasing her with a pickup line from an old Hollywood movie, and she had gone with it, conveying her interest in a light, flirtatious tone that he'd seemed to understand. She had confided in him after the attack on their minds in Johannesburg, revealing one of the darkest parts of her past in an effort to refute his insistence that they couldn't be together. It seemed to work, but then she had been kidnapped by Ultron, then Bruce staged a rescue before choosing the worst possible time to try to disappear on the rest of the team in the name of getting Natasha somewhere safe.

Laura was a very good listener, and when Natasha paused at this point in the story, she nodded at her to continue. Natasha took another breath and recounted how she'd kissed him as a means to put him off his guard and pushed him over a ledge in order to force his transformation. The look of betrayal on his face as he'd fallen backwards into the chasm — the last time Natasha had seen Bruce as himself — was burned into her memory.

"You know the rest," she finished weakly. "Haven't heard from him since." There were a few beats of silence filled only by the crickets humming around them.

"That's definitely the most I've ever heard you talk," Laura told her, smirking.

"It's not a short story," Natasha said by way of explanation. There was a long pause.

"Forget the tea, you need Vodka."

Natasha took another drink of her tea, which had cooled several degrees now, and gave her friend a small smile. She checked to make sure Nathaniel was still sleeping soundly against her chest and looked up to see a mixture of emotions on Laura's face.

"I know this should not be my first reaction," she began, "But why is this the first I'm hearing about you and Dr. Banner? From you, I mean, not just by observation."

"Nothing to tell. I mean, we're colleagues and friends, but anything beyond that wasn't —isn't— really definable." Laura let out an exclamation of annoyance.

"Honey, maybe not officially, but what you are describing sounds an awful lot like love," she said pointedly, smiling at her.

"I thought the Red Room managed to program all of that out of me," Natasha said in a voice so honest and matter-of-fact that it almost surprised her. They had certainly tried. Madame B's voice asserting _"Love is for children" _ echoed through her mind unbidden and she pushed it aside.

Truthfully, and she would never tell another soul this, but Natasha was genuinely _relieved_ that she was even capable of experiencing that kind of intimate love for another person. She had questioned it for a very long time, wondered whether the traumas of her past and the ways she had been forced to use her body had irrevocably stomped out any possibility of a romantic relationship in the future.

She was so thoroughly absorbed in her own thoughts that she almost didn't realize Laura was speaking.

"—heart wants what it wants, that's part of being human and no amount of brainwashing can totally erase it. I'm really happy for you, Nat." Laura's eyes were shining with delight. "Dr. Banner is bound to come back, and you'll just need to see where those feelings take you when he does."

"We'll see," she said, but she really wasn't sure and she was ready to change the subject. "So how are things around here?" Laura could tell she was changing the subject and it was a mark of their friendship that Laura didn't push the issue.

"Really great," Laura answered, unable to keep a smile off of her face. She ran her finger around the rim of her mug before taking another sip. "Not sure they could be better, actually. Nathaniel's healthy, Cooper and Lila are happy, and we're all so grateful to have Clint at home with us full time."

"I bet," Natasha said. "Well, you just send him back if he starts tearing up the house again." She kept her tone carefully light and nonchalant, unwilling to convey to Laura how much she already missed her best friend's presence around the tower.

Both looked around suddenly as the sliding glass door opened and Clint stepped outside with a glass of water in his hand. He slid the door quietly closed again after he realized that Nathaniel was asleep and slid onto the bench of the table opposite the two women.

"That took a while," Laura observed.

"Well, you know how it is," he said, stretching and unrolling the sleeves of his flannel shirt back over his forearms. "Lila wants one more chapter and the next thing you know, the book is finished." Laura raised her eyebrows and shook her head. She looked back at Natasha.

"I rescind my earlier comment," she said. "Clint's being home 24/7 now is going to result in some increased chaos at the Barton homestead."

"Hey, I _founded_ the Barton homestead." He grinned goofily at his wife, whose expression seemed to reluctantly soften. "So what'd I miss?" Laura and Natasha exchanged a look, and Natasha shrugged her free shoulder.

"Talking about your retirement. Convenient, how you timed that so you wouldn't have to help with the move to the new Avengers facility upstate."

"How'd that go? You guys all settled in?" Clint asked, sounding genuinely curious now. Natasha shook her head.

"It was a pretty big move and there's a lot left to do. Plus I had to pack and schlep all of your crap upstate in addition to mine, so thanks for that," she teased.

"Sorry about that," Clint winced. "But still, better you than Tony."

"I still threw out all of your dirty magazines," she teased.

"Really cool comment to make in front of my kid, Nat," he shook his head as if in disappointment, but he was smiling.

"Oh it's fine, he can't understand language yet, can you, _malyshko_?" She cooed quietly to Nathaniel. In answer, he slept on.

"That reminds me," Laura said to Natasha, "Cooper and Lila have been asking me if he's going to have a special Auntie Nat nickname, like they do."

"Eventually, yes, but I want to see what he's like first," she smiled softly at the sleeping baby on her chest. "Besides, I think that they are already worried enough about how my attention is divided with him here."

"Yeah, Cooper's worried you'll like him more because he's named after you," Laura confided a little sheepishly.

"And since Cooper is worried, so is Lila," Clint added.

"I gathered that talking to them earlier. Speaking of which, mind if I take them out for the day on Thursday?"

"Go for it," Clint said at the same time as Laura exclaimed "Absolutely!" They laughed and Nathaniel stirred and started to fuss. Natasha shifted the baby into her arms. The change in position only calmed him for a few moments before he began to squirm again.

"What did you have planned?" Clint asked, interested.

"Skydiving, motorcycle lessons, tattoos," she said, smirking. "The usual."

"Honestly? Just bring them back in one piece and without too much emotional scarring," Laura grinned. Nathaniel started to cry in earnest now, bringing his fist to his mouth again, and Laura reached for him. Natasha's arms felt strangely light and empty without the weight of the baby and she briefly wondered if this was how Clint and Laura when they handed him to someone else.

"Hungry man," Clint said approvingly.

"He'll be fat before you know it," Laura stood and went inside to feed the baby.

Natasha followed, suddenly feeling exhausted. She said goodnight to Clint and Laura and excused herself to her usual bedroom on the first floor. She was grateful not to be in the upstairs guest bedroom, the one she had briefly shared with Bruce upstairs. Wherever he was, she thought as she slid into bed and pulled sheet up to her chin, she hoped he was safe.

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* * *

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By the following morning, everyone had fallen into their usual routines. Natasha and Clint rose at dawn to go for a run and arrived back to make breakfast as usual and Laura had come downstairs as the first pancakes were coming off of the griddle. Breakfast passed in its usual chaos. Just as they were starting to clean up the breakfast mess, one of Cooper's friends showed up at the front door and he bolted outside to play. Lila remained at the table with her colored pencils to draw, still tousle-haired and in her pajamas. Nathaniel was put down for a nap in his bassinet in the living room, Clint had gone upstairs for a shower and Natasha was catching up on e-mails.

The morning chaos was winding down for Laura, who had just finished wiping down the counters and started to unload the dishwasher when Lila spoke unexpectedly from the kitchen table.

"Mama, what does 'sterilize' mean?" Lila asked, not looking up from her intense coloring. Laura was was focused on balancing several plates in her arms and shifting them into a cupboard.

"It means cleaning something really, really well so there aren't any germs left. Like when we boil jars before we make jam or can green beans," she answered without much thought.

"Oh," Lila said. Laura finished unloading the dishwasher and joined Lila at the kitchen table with a glass of water and her crossword puzzle. "Can you sterilize a person?"

Laura looked up at her 6-year-old, completely shocked by the question. She tried to keep her expression calm and her voice even.

"What do you mean?" she asked. She was not about to inadvertently give her daughter more information that she was asking for.

"Like, when I take a bath and scrub with soap, is that sterilizing?" Laura almost smiled with relief and amusement.

"No, sweetie. That just gets the dirt and bad germs off of your skin, but we still have good germs in our bodies that help keep us healthy. Sterilizing kills the good germs and the bad germs, too."

"Can you still live without the good germs?" Lila asked in a small voice, looking up from the underwater scene she was drawing and staring wide-eyed at her mother. She looked genuinely concerned.

"Lila, honey, why are you asking? Where did you hear that word?" Lila stared into her lap, some of her long brown hair falling into her face. It was several seconds before she answered.

"I didn't mean to spy, I swear," she said. "I just wanted to give Auntie Nat the dreamcatcher I made her at Daisies, but— but—" her voice trailed off.

"It's okay, you're not in trouble," Laura assured her daughter.

"She was talking to her friend in the upstairs bedroom and she said some people in a red room sterilized her at graduation and something about missions being easier and then I left so they wouldn't hear me."

Laura felt as though she'd been punched in the gut.

"Honey, are — are you sure that's what you heard?"

Lila nodded and Laura felt like the wind was knocked out of her. It took several seconds before she was able to breathe again. Nat must have been talking to Banner, and if Lila had heard correctly, she wasn't just sterile, she'd been _sterilized_, probably forcibly and against her will.

All at once, so many little things fell into place that she knew Lila had not misheard anything. Of course sterilizing their female agents was something the KGB would do, it made perfect sense. She knew that being pregnant was the one thing that could radically reorder any woman's priorities. The Red Room had invested far too much in their agents to lose them to motherhood. She had also gleaned enough nuance from Nat to know that the female agents were asked to utilize their own bodies, well, in ways that would risk pregnancy.

Other things started coming together as well, like the strangely stiff look that flashed onto Nat's face every time Laura had asked her about having kids before carefully rearranging her expression into one of nonchalance, resulting in brief awkward moments during dozens of conversations over the years that Laura had thought she might have imagined. She had registered an unusual mixture of fascination and heartache, maybe even a flicker of longing once or twice, whenever Natasha had looked too long at Laura's swelling belly or felt the baby kick.

Once, when she realized she'd been staring a little too long, she offered her own lack of experience as explanation. Natasha's life and career didn't expose her to many pregnant women or children, that was obvious from their first meeting half a dozen years ago, so she hadn't thought much beyond that explanation.

Oh God, hadn't she and Lila both commented on Nat potentially becoming a mom yesterday evening? Had she been inadvertently grinding salt into a wound she hadn't known existed. What Laura wouldn't give to be able to un-say all of those things.

"I promise I didn't _mean_ to hear anything, I just wanted to give Auntie Nat the dreamcatcher. I'm really sorry." Lila said, her small voice containing a note of pleading now. Lila must have taken Laura's silence for anger. She swallowed the suffocating lump in her throat and leaned forward in her chair at eye level with her daughter.

"It's okay, honey, you're not in trouble."

"Then how come you're upset?" Laura sighed and looked into Lila's penitent face.

"I'm not angry with you, Lila. Does Auntie Nat know that you heard her talking to her friend?" Lila hadn't said who it was, but she suspected Dr. Banner had been the other half of the argument.

"Uh-uh," Lila said, shaking her head. "But is Auntie Nat gonna be okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"'Cause her good germs are all gone now." Laura almost smiled with relief.

"Yeah, she's going to be fine, okay?" Laura said, brushing Lila's hair back behind her ear and out of her face. "But I need you to help keep her secret, okay? If Nat did not want anyone else to hear her arguing with her friend, we need to respect that."

Lila shrugged and mumbled "Okay" before returning to her drawing and adding another seaweed plant to the bottom of the page.

"Good. Thank you, honey. I'm going to go check on baby Nate, okay?"

Laura turned away, unable to keep her expression neutral any longer. She crossed into the living room where tiny baby Nathaniel was sound asleep in a bassinet. She looked for a long moment at his little face and she reached her hand out toward him. Her fingers brushed against his downy head.

She felt a dam break inside of her. Her chest heaved and her hand hand clamped over her mouth in a futile effort to silence her sobs as she mourned every possibility that had been stolen from Natasha.

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* * *

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That's all for now! Next chapter should be up in about a week.

I imagine this must have been a heavier time emotionally for Natasha in the timeline, lots of transitions while still dealing with the aftermath of Wanda's mindf*ck and Banner's disappearance. The next part will contain some lighter moments, not to worry :)

As always, thank you so much for taking the time to review, favorite, and follow this story. I appreciate each and every one of you.

Until next time :)


	10. Chapter 10

Hey there, readers! It's been longer than expected, but here's the next installment of our story. It ended up being a good bit longer than anticipated, but I didn't think you'd mind ;)

DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

Spoilers, as with the last chapter, will be current through Age of Ultron. As usual, there are no flash-forwards.

Enjoy!

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* * *

Summer 2015 - Part II

* * *

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Natasha startled awake, gasping for breath and covered in a cold sweat. It took several seconds for her to get a grip on her surroundings, but the familiar feel of the patchwork quilt under her fingertips and soft red glow of the digital alarm clock helped to ground her. Her nightmares had become so much more vivid and ghastly ever since Wanda Maximoff had meddled with her memories. Every gruesome detail left her feeling raw and panicked long after she woke.

She could normally look forward to some improvement in the horrifying dreams whenever she visited the Bartons, but during this visit the nightmares had been as bad as ever. A cool breeze from the open window blew gently over her face and the fresh air was soothing, heavily scented with imminent rain. The clock read 3:34 AM, but there was no way she'd be able to fall back to sleep.

Natasha swung her legs over the edge of the bed, zipped a sweatshirt up over her top, and left the room with her tablet in one hand. She hoped Laura or Clint would be awake feeding the Nathaniel — she found herself craving company — but was disappointed by the stillness of the darkened kitchen and living room. Just as the thought of a hard run had entered her mind there was a clap of thunder and the pitter-patter of rainfall drumming on the windowpanes. There was always plan C, she thought, and she moved soundlessly through the room to retrieve the bottle of vodka and a glass from the kitchen cupboard before slipping noiselessly out the front door.

Over the past year or so, she had found herself developing closer friendships with the other Avengers as well as Maria Hill and even Pepper. It was nice, being able to feel like herself in someone else's company, not worrying so much about what others wanted or expected her to be. Natasha had initially scoffed at Steve last year after he'd told her that it was hard to trust someone when you didn't know who that someone is. She would never tell him this, but those words had caused a deep unrest within her and it took several weeks to realize the reason: she hadn't really known herself who she was, underneath the layers of SHIELD and the KGB and the Red Room and the sum of all of her actions.

What Natasha had known was who she wanted to be, which was a good place to start. Laura had gently pointed out to her last year that she'd never really had the chance to be an active decision-maker in her own life before, so she had resolved to start, beginning with the hiatus in Russia. Natasha had returned from her trip feeling more comfortable in her own skin, which seemed to make others more comfortable around her in turn. She started being more social with Steve, Bruce, Tony, Pepper, and Maria instead of keeping her interactions strictly business.

It wasn't until Laura made an offhand comment during a phone call about being glad she had friends close by that Natasha made the connection herself. Having friends aside from Clint and Laura—importantly, friends that were physically near—was a welcome change; she found that her nights off had become more enjoyable and the quiet moments, less lonely.

The problem was that now, during moments like this when she wanted someone just to talk to and take her mind off of her nightmares, it was a little harder than before to cope on her own. Her instinct to find a physical outlet for her inner turmoil was still strong, but she found that talking to a confidant could provide almost as much relief.

Natasha settled onto her usual spot on the porch swing and poured a measure of vodka into the glass, setting the bottle on the floor next to the swing and stabilizing the glass between her knees. She sipped the alcohol and switched on her tablet for a distraction. She spent several minutes scrolling idly through news headlines when a bubble popped up at the top of the screen. _Steven Rogers would like to video chat_. She touched the 'Accept' option and Steve's face filled the screen.

"What's up?" she said simply. He frowned at her and ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

"Saw you were online," he told her by way of explanation. "It's still pretty early there. What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," she shrugged and brushed the macabre visions aside. She took another swig of the vodka. The rainstorm picked up and was coming down harder now, the wind occasionally blowing droplets onto her face. It was welcome and refreshing.

"Uh-huh," he said doubtfully. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay," Steve said, the background of his screen suddenly changing like he'd started to change locations. She could see flashes his room and then the bare hallway leading, she knew, to the common area of the Avengers facility. "Are you outside? Sounds like it's raining."

"Yeah."

"Want to talk about something else?"

"Sure." She kept her tone nonchalant, but Steve narrowed his eyes just enough to tell her that he knew she was downplaying things.

"Yeah, sure, uh… How's the baby?"

They chatted about trivialities for nearly half an hour, until Natasha's glass was empty and the maelstrom in her mind was settling. An alarm sounded on Steve's end and he picked up his phone.

"I'm due to meet Sam for a run," he said apologetically. "You good?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Thanks, Steve."

"Sorry you're not here. We could have gone a couple rounds." Natasha laughed at this.

"Hilarious, _super soldier_," she deadpanned.

"What, afraid you can't beat a 96-year-old man? Thought you said I was a fossil."

"A very brawny, scientifically enhanced fossil. Clint will be up in a couple hours, we'll spar later. Besides, he and I are better matched physically." There was a soft squeak of floorboards, barely audible over the rain, that caused Natasha to look over toward the front door. "Speak of the devil," she murmured. Clint was at the doorway in his plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt, Nathaniel swaddled comfortably in his arms. He must have been up for a nighttime feeding.

Steve said "Is he there?" at the same time Clint asked "Who are you talking to?"

"Steve," Natasha answered Clint's question, turning the tablet's camera toward him so he and Steve could see each other.

"Hey Clint."

"Hey man," Clint said, then turned to Natasha. "Come inside, it's chilly out here."

"I'm Russian," she quipped with a smirk. She turned the tablet back around. "Thanks for the chat, and tell Sam hi."

"Will do," he said and the call disconnected. Clint held the door open for her and she quickly gathered her tablet, the bottle of vodka, and the empty glass, ducking under his arm and hurrying into the house. He pulled the door shut behind him.

"Couldn't sleep?" Clint asked unnecessarily. Natasha shook her head. "Were you talking it through with Steve or Stolichnaya?"

"Ha ha," she said humorlessly, but Clint caught a flash of something dark behind her eyes that betrayed how shaken she still was by whatever had haunted her sleep that evening. She must've been pretty distressed if she was still carrying that look in her eyes even after some hard liquor and a chat with Cap. "How's Nate?" she asked.

"Fed and asleep," he said, gesturing toward the stairs. "I was going to put him back upstairs. Want to fight?"

"Yeah," she told him, relieved he had suggested it.

"Get changed and I'll meet you back here in 5?" She nodded, and exactly 5 minutes later they were huddled under an umbrella, sloshing through the muddy backyard to the barn in the rain. They burst through the door and Natasha groped around for a few seconds before she found the light switch. It buzzed to life, illuminating the makeshift gym space in a dim yellow-white glow. Clint shook the excess water from the umbrella and both removed their shoes.

"This is nice," Natasha observed, running her hand over a punching bag hanging in a corner that hadn't been there before.

"Thanks. Retirement gift," he said, stretching his arms as he walked over to join her. "You rather punch that thing instead of me?" he asked with a cheeky smile. She smirked back.

"Nah, it's more satisfying to hit a person."

"Assuming you can land anything," Clint goaded.

"I don't know, you've been out of the game, _retiree_," she teased back.

"Yeah, for like six weeks."

"I still like my chances."

She would miss this easy banter, she thought, and almost as soon as the thought entered her mind she pushed it aside. Natasha unzipped her sweatshirt and pulled off her socks, folding them into a pocket, dropping the hoodie at the edge of the mat, and continuing to warm up in her tank top and athletic leggings. The two of them finished stretching and moved toward the middle of the mats.

They fell into an easy rhythm with their sparring, each matching the other's pace and intensity. Natasha's tension dissipated bit by bit with each punch, block, kick, jab, and evasion. They went several rounds and were soon sweating and out of breath. They called a temporary halt for a water break and headed to the water jugs Clint kept on a shelf near the door. He poured a cup and handed it to her before pouring one for himself.

"Want to talk about it?" He asked. Natasha drained her cup before answering and he passed her the jug to refill it.

"Nothing to say."

"Nightmares?" The way he said it was more of a statement than a question. Their eyes met briefly and she nodded. "Seems like they've been worse lately."

"Yeah," she said simply. Clint knew her well enough by now that lying to him would be useless.

"Still Sokovia? Wanda's mind warp?" he ventured.

"Among other things." He tilted his head to the side in anticipation of her next words, but they never came. She was evading his attempts to help and they both knew it.

"C'mon, Nat," he said softly, meeting her gaze. "You can talk to me, that's what partners do."

_"Are_ we still partners?" she asked, eyes narrowing. Clint faltered in his response.

"Of course we are!" he said firmly. "Well, I mean, we're friends, but that doesn't — I just… I don't have a better word to describe what we are right now. Still doesn't change the fact that you're my best friend." Natasha gave the smallest breath of a sigh, only detectable in her change in posture.

"I think Laura's supposed to be your best friend," she pointed out.

"Well, she's my best _lady_ friend, but you're—" he stopped short at Natasha's arched eyebrow. "Okay that came out wrong. I don't mean that you're not a woman, it's just… I trust you in a different way, not that I don't trust Laura— But there are things we tell each other, you and I, I mean, but that makes it sound… There's no way for me to dig myself out of this one, is there?" Clint asked, shaking his head at the smirk that had appeared on her face.

"No, but it's fun watching you try," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's okay, Clint." He met her gaze and knew she understood, but he wanted to make himself absolutely clear.

"I don't want things to change with us," he said.

"You know that's not possible," she said, her voice more gentle than he had expected and a clarity in her bright green eyes. There was no way for him to know that she didn't want things to change between them, either, but in many ways, they already had.

"Laura said that, too," he admitted. Natasha smirked at him.

"She's a smart woman." She finished her second cup of water and set the plastic cup back on the shelf. "Sure you want to retire?"

"No amount of money would be worth missing my kids' lives," he said, giving her a cheeky grin. "Besides, Laura's been wanting to get back into clinical nursing. Says she misses working with real people instead of just taking calls on the triage line."

"Really?" Natasha asked, surprised. Laura hadn't mentioned anything to her about it.

"Yeah. She is going to start looking for jobs in the next couple of months here, and her goal is to start when Nate is 6 months old," Clint grinning to himself, eyes shining with pride.

"She's going to be amazing," Natasha said, also smiling.

"She already is." There was a strange pause as Clint set his cup down, too, and looked over at her almost apologetically.

"Clint, it's okay to want more time with your family," she reassured him. "You've earned it. Besides, there are worse ways to end a partnership." He frowned at her, and in response she said lightly, "want to go another round?"

They went hand-to-hand for several more rounds and after she pinned him to the ground for the third time in a row, she was beginning to think he was going easy on her. At least, that's how she felt before he was able to throw her off and immobilize her on the ground, pinning her extremities strategically. She couldn't move and muttered a curse to herself, thinking of ways to get out from under his hold.

"You were starting to get cocky," he taunted. Natasha tapped out and they were back on their feet, so absorbed in landing blows and evading attacks from the other that neither noticed the barn door open until a sharp cry sounded.

"Stop it, stop it, stop fighting!" Lila cried out, looking close to tears. She was wearing her rain coat and boots, which splattered mud and water on the mats as she rushed toward them. Clint and Natasha stepped apart immediately and turned to the visibly upset child.

"Lila, it's okay, we're not fighting for real," Clint said, wrapping his daughter in his arms.

"But you were hitting each other!"

"It's just for practice," Natasha reassured. "We weren't hurting each other, I promise."

Lila looked between the two adults skeptically.

"You weren't hurting each other?"

"No, it was just pretend fighting."

"Oh," Lila said, much calmer now. "Like when you and mommy wrestle?"

Natasha's eyes glittered with mirth, struggling to hold in the peals of laughter building in her chest, as she watched Clint's face blush so deeply red that his ears were nearly purple. He scrubbed his face with both hands and groaned.

"No, sweetie, this is different," Natasha said, still grinning, and walked with her toward the door.

"Oh," she said. "Well, Mommy said to come in for breakfast." Natasha pulled her sweatshirt back on over her tank top.

"Perfect, because I am starving." She punctuated the end of the sentence by flipping the hood of Lila's raincoat back over her head, making her giggle. "Let's go."

She tugged her own hood over her head for protection from the rain and slid the door open. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and she blinked to adjust to the bright light of early morning. She peered back into the gym room to see that Clint had made no effort to move.

"Come on, Daddy!" Lila said. "Let's go! _Davay_! _Vamanos_!"

"Daddy might need a minute," Natasha told her little niece, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"How come? Is he hurt?"

"No, he just needs some water," she turned and smirked at Clint, still struggling not to laugh at the expression on his beet-red face. She stepped out the door and ran with Lila through the yard and onto the back porch. Both of them tugged off their shoes before sliding the door open and stepping into the kitchen. Natasha pushed her damp hair out of her face and was greeted by the smell of coffee and waffles. She smiled in greeting to Laura, who was already seated at the table with Cooper.

"Morning, Nat," Laura said, craning her neck to look behind Natasha. "Is my husband coming or is he still licking his wounds?"

"I thought you said it was just pretend fighting," Lila protested.

"It's a figure of speech, sweetie. Come get some breakfast," Laura said, beckoning to her daughter. Natasha helped herself to a cup of coffee while Lila settled into her seat at the table. Laura sidled up to Natasha at the counter to refill her own coffee mug.

"Rough night?" she asked, looking concerned. Natasha nodded. "Feeling better now?"

"Yes, _mom_," she replied in a light, teasing tone. Laura had seemed more emotional labile lately, and was even more concerned than usual about Natasha's well-being for the past couple of days. When she'd mentioned this to Clint the day before, he'd chalked it up to post-pregnancy hormones and they'd both shrugged it off, but Natasha would be relieved when this particular phase passed.

"Well, worrying about all of you is basically my full-time job," Laura replied, sipping her coffee.

"Auntie Nat," Cooper said loudly between mouthfuls of waffle, "Are we still going out with you today?"

"For surprise fun day?" Lila chimed in. Both had hopeful expressions on their faces.

"They were up at dawn and have been amped up all morning," Laura told her almost apologetically, and then in a lower voice she added, "as long as you're still okay to—"

"Of course," Natasha said, louder for the kids to hear, and they erupted with excitement. "As long as you can be dressed, teeth brushed, and ready to go in—" she checked her watch, "45 minutes."

"Where are we going?"

"What are we doing?"

"Do we need swimsuits?"

"Or snacks?"

"It's a surprise," Natasha said conspiratorially, raising an eyebrow. "But it's smart to be prepared for anything."

It took less than two minutes for both kids to gulp down what remained of their breakfasts and bolt up to their bedrooms, chattering excitedly about what the day might hold. They had no sooner run from the room when Clint came back in through the sliding door, trailing the soft scent of fresh rain behind him. His face was still flushed and after one look at him, Natasha started to laugh. Laura looked curiously between them.

"Lila walked in on us sparring—" Clint said, sliding the door closed and making a beeline for the coffeepot. "She was upset, we had to convince her it was pretend fighting."

"And she asked if it was like when Daddy and Mommy wrestle," Natasha cut in with a smirk, taking a seat at the table.

Laura's face flushed almost as deeply red as Clint's had a few minutes ago and she clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

"Oh, God," she groaned.

"Yeah," Clint said. "Daddy needed a minute to recover from that one." He made his way to the table, where Natasha had already speared a waffle from the platter on the table and put it on her plate.

"Well, we should probably have a conversation with her before that sort of talk leaves this house," Laura said, shaking her head, still flushed. Her eyes darted around the room, giving Natasha the distinct impression that she was desperately searching for a change in topic. "So where _are _you taking them today, Nat?"

"Rock climbing. I found a center outside of Kansas City that looks fantastic. Then lunch and further activities TBD," she said, adding butter and maple syrup to her waffle. "I looked up a few other things they might find fun, depending on their energy level after climbing."

"That sounds great, they've never been to a climbing wall before," Clint said before stuffing an entire waffle half into his mouth.

"As long as they come back in one piece, I'm happy," Laura said, side-eyeing her husband's chewing with distaste. He gave a huge gulp.

"And tired. Preferably tired," he said. "They can be a handful, you sure you're up to this after last night?"

"Yeah," she said before taking a sip of her coffee. "I feel really good. Thanks."

"Any time you need an ass-kicking, I'm game," Clint laughed. He pulled another waffle onto his plate as Natasha squinted at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry, were we both in the same barn a minute ago?"

"I clearly remember you tapping out."

"Only 4 times out of dozens of matches."

"It had to be more than that," he bickered back.

"Honey," Laura started in, patting Clint's forearm. "I think it might be best to just admit that if you two ever really fought, Nat would win, hands-down."

Natasha's green eyes were alight with a twinkle of mischief when she smirked at Clint.

Less than an hour and several backpack checks and an argument regarding control of the car music later, both kids were safely belted into the back seat of the navy sedan and Natasha, Cooper, and Lila were waving and shouting good-byes to Clint and Laura in the driveway. Laura wrapped her arm around Clint's waist and he pulled her close, exhaling softly. They started back to the house and Clint was about to pull open the front door when Laura tightened her grip on his side, holding him back.

"We need to talk about something," she said, nodding toward the porch swing.

"Ok," Clint shrugged, following her lead. They sat together looking at the dust clouds that had been kicked up by the car speeding down the road. He wondered briefly whether she was worried about Lila's comment from earlier that morning.

"When you brought the team to the house a few weeks back, Lila overheard something she shouldn't have," Laura began, folding a leg under her so she could turn to face her husband. "I talked to her already, but just in case she comes to you or says something, especially in front of Nat—" she had started speaking much more quickly, and Clint's brow furrowed in concern.

"Slow down, honey."

"She told me that she overheard a conversation between Nat and Dr. Banner. Part of one, anyway." Laura paused, uncertain of how best to continue. "I mean, part of a conversation. She says she only remembers a few phrases." Clint was quiet, now looking at her with a combination of hesitancy and curiosity. There were several moments of silence where Laura searched for what to say.

"What did she hear?" he asked quietly, He knew full well that Nat always watched what she said on the property, especially while the kids were awake, just in case she was overheard. But that day had been emotionally traumatic for her, she'd been so shaken up, and who knows what she might have said without fully comprehending where she was? Had she had some kind of flashback in front of Banner?

"She heard Nat say something about being sterilized." Laura said, unsurprised when her vision blurred with brimming tears. Her voice quivered, and she started to say that Lila was only six, that now she said it out loud it had to be a mistake, that she had spent the past few days being emotional over nothing.

The words died on her tongue the moment she looked into Clint's face. His expression was hardened, pained, and indignant, and she knew that even if their daughter had misheard something, the truth in her words was irrefutably reflected in her husband's solemn expression.

"_Shit,_" he breathed. "She told _Banner_ about that? What did you tell Lila?"

"She asked what the word meant, I told her about getting rid of germs and not to mention it to Nat, we talked about eavesdropping, and that was it," she said. Clint focused his eyes on the horizon and nodded. Laura reached up to brush several stray hairs off of his temple. "You knew," she breathed. He nodded.

"Yeah," he said, blowing out a long breath through pursed lips.

"How long?" she asked without guile or accusation.

"A while," he said. He searched her face; telling her about this wouldn't be a betrayal of Nat's trust, but Laura might feel he had betrayed _her_ in withholding the information in the first place. "Since SHIELD first briefed me on the mission to take her down back in '06. They gave me every detail they had on the Red Room, including some of the known training methods and what they call the 'graduation ceremony.'" Clint's face remained hardened and he was unable to keep a note of disgust out of his voice. "It was years before she mentioned it to me, only brought it up twice the whole time I've known her, but even before that I figured if she completed the Red Room program, she must have been forced through that."

"Hard to imagine Nat being forced through anything," Laura said quietly, feeling that a leaden anvil had just dropped into her stomach. She had wanted to hold onto the sliver of hope that the conversation Lila had overheard had been badly misunderstood.

"She was a different person back then," Clint said. There was a pause. Laura interlaced her fingers with his.

"You said the Maximoff girl made everyone relive their nightmares, do you think—" she sighed and allowed her voice to trail off. Clint shrugged, jaw still tight.

"Not sure, but I'd hazard a guess. She must have been pretty shaken up to mention it to Banner."

"I didn't help at all," Laura confided miserably. "That was right after I told her the baby wouldn't be named 'Natasha.' And I've made so many stupid offhand comments without even considering—"

"Come on, Laura," his tone was gentle and reassuring and his face softened. "There's no way you could have known, and Nat knows that. I think she half expected me to let something slip over the years, but she knows you'd never make those comments in front of her if you'd known she couldn't have kids." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze in reassurance. "She knows you as well as you know her, and she's noticed that you've been weirdly emotional in the past couple of days. Is that when you found out?"

Laura nodded. She wasn't surprised Nat had noticed. Laura wasn't sure if it was hormones or the suffocating sense of loss she felt for her friend, probably a combination of both, but she'd been close to tears more often than not whenever she saw Natasha interact with the baby.

"I told her it was probably hormones. Still can't believe she told Banner," Clint shook his head. "I didn't realize they were that close,"

"Oh, _Hawkeye,_ that much is obvious," she teased lightly. "I'm not that surprised. I think she really loves him, Clint. And I think she feels almost as surprised about it as you look." She smirked at the expression on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand.

"God. I retire for 6 weeks and I already feel like I don't know my best friend anymore." He realized too late what he'd said and he opened his mouth at once to defend his word choice, but Laura stopped him with a shake of her head and an understanding smile, and Clint knew she'd understood his meaning.

"Change is hard. She's really thrown herself into the Avengers, and that's way more than just a job for her." Laura sighed and searched out her husband's bright blue eyes with hers. "We're not her only family anymore."

Clint felt his face fall, feeling a little begrudging and dejected as the full impact of her words hit him.

"Hon, stop looking so jealous," Laura said gently, squeezing his hand. "This is an amazing thing for Nat. She has a life full of purpose and people that she loves and who _love her back_. Isn't that the whole reason you disobeyed your orders all those years ago?"

"Yeah. But I still want to be a little greedy."

"I know. Me too."

They sat together holding hands until Nathaniel's wail beckoned them back inside of the house.

.

* * *

.

Natasha, Cooper, and Lila returned after night had settled over the farm. They burst out of the car flushed with more energy and excitement than either of their parents had seen since the day they'd brought Nathaniel home from the hospital. Cooper had a faint sunburn across his nose and cheeks and more of Lila's hair was out of her braid than in. They babbled rapidly to Clint and Laura, dragging their parents inside to share the day's events with them.

Running around with the kids had left Natasha feeling happy and had instilled a new appreciation with the amount of energy it took for Clint and Laura to watch two young, active kids every day. She was _tired_. She followed the rest of the Bartons inside the house and listened contentedly to the kids' gleeful chatter.

"The climbing gym was _so cool_ and I made it to the top of a bunch of times, even on the hard routes!"

"I did a lot, too!" Lila chimed in, not to be outdone. "And then we went for a lunch adventure—"

"We could only eat foods we hadn't had before so we got Bayou food. Like from Louisiana!"

"We had frog legs and gumbo and hush doggies—"

"Hush _puppies_, Lila," Cooper rolled his eyes.

"You'd never had frog legs or hush puppies?" Clint asked Natasha with disbelief. She shook her head.

"—Then we went geocaching and found cool stuff all over the city—"

"—And saw the wall of giant books and the glass maze—"

"—And there was this cool museum full of old toys and this other family was talking about fireworks night at the Royals game and so we went downtown and Aunt Nat got us tickets!" Clint looked impressed.

"That's awesome," he said earnestly.

"Don't be too impressed—" Natasha began, but Lila cut in.

"We got to sit in the bleachers!" Both Clint and Laura looked at Natasha with their eyebrows raised.

"In my defense, those were the only decent seats left and I did not know about the bleacher _culture."_

"I learned some new words," Cooper laughed.

"Me, too!" Lila chirped.

"Oh good," Laura groaned. Clint laughed at Natasha's sheepish expression and his kids' excitement before he wilted under Laura's stern gaze.

There were several more minutes of show-and-tell as the kids showed off their geocaching trinkets and souvenirs before Laura ushered them to bed amidst heavy protesting. Before they went, both kids wrapped their arms tightly around Natasha.

"Thanks Auntie Nat!"

"Yeah, thanks so much, you're the best!" As Laura ushered her older kids upstairs, she turned and mouthed 'Thank you' to Natasha with a grateful smile.

When Natasha climbed into bed that night, a deep sense of contentment and drowsiness lulled her into the best sleep she'd had in months. She was surprised when she woke the following morning to the sounds of birds chirping outside the window and early rays of sun falling across her face. It had been a long time since she'd slept through the night.

.

* * *

.

The rest of her vacation time seemed to fly by all too quickly. There was still plenty to do with setting up the Avengers, but Natasha was able to spend an hour or two each morning and night corresponding with Steve, Rhodey, Sam, Tony, Maria, and Fury in order to help things move along. The rest of the day she was free to hang out with the Bartons, helping to watch Nathaniel so Clint and Laura could have a reprieve, spending time sparring or on the shooting range with Clint, or tending the garden or chatting over tea with Laura. Most of all, she was enjoying the time spent with Cooper and Lila.

Cooper was the spitting image of Laura and had inherited her acute perceptiveness and a deep sense of empathy. He loved to read and was endlessly inquisitive, but in a much more quiet way than his sister. Cooper tended to explore his questions by researching in books or online, independently reading about general principles before asking someone to delve into the specifics; he found a great sense of satisfaction in finding his own answers. He was also growing into an excellent athlete with fantastic hand-eye coordination that made him an asset to his Little League team.

Lila was full of her own energetic spark, a little young for too much organized sport but loved soccer and ballet. Her intensity surprised Natasha at times for a child so young, but when the little girl wanted to do something or know something, she went into it with full force and focus. She was still as keenly intelligent as she had been as a younger child, blurting out every question as soon as it came into her head and constantly asking why. Her quick temper and intense focus were all Clint, but her intellect more closely resembled Laura's. In physical appearance she was an equal mix of her parents.

Even though he was so young, Nathaniel was also growing remarkably fast. For the two weeks that Natasha had known her little nephew he had already begun to develop more distinct facial features, and he'd even gained nearly a pound in weight. He was still just a baby, even younger than Lila had been when she'd first met her, but Natasha already found herself wondering what kind of person he would become. She'd become much less nervous caring for him in the past couple of weeks, just as Clint and Laura had predicted.

The older the kids grew, the more their interests and personalities exploded, the more fun they were to be with. Cooper excelled on a competitive swimming team, Lila was developing into quite a good little ballet dancer, and both loved belonging to their relative scouting troops. They loved hanging out in the treehouse that Natasha had helped Clint build the previous year and relished the time Natasha got to spend with them in their own little lair.

Now that both were a little older, Laura had given her permission to teach Cooper and Lila just enough of what they called her "spy moves" to be able to get away from a potential abductor. It was easy stuff, where to step and what to punch, how to twist out of tight holds and escape ropes, but the benefit of potentially escaping danger one day was invaluable. The kids just saw it as possibly the coolest thing their Auntie Nat had ever taught them.

They passed the lazy summer days like this, as a rotating block of activities mixed with the occasional chores and odd tasks, until Natasha's visit drew to a close and she felt like she was packing her bag far too soon. The night before her departure, the weather was warm and clear and the night sky glittered with stars in the absence of moonlight. Cooper, Lila, and Natasha had spread the large picnic blanket on the ground and were lying on their backs looking up at the stars.

It was Cooper's idea. He had recently taken up a fascination with the constellations, planets, and the size of the universe. Laura had smiled as she told Natasha this a few days earlier. She knew from spending time with the kids that children frequently had phases of intense interest in a given subject; Cooper and Lila had gone through stages of fascination with every subject ranging from ancient Egypt to dinosaurs and fossils to the rainforest to astronauts.

Natasha lay with her hands folded behind her head, looking up at the stars as Cooper pointed out constellation after constellation to her from where he lay on her left. Lila was at her right, her questions and interjections becoming less frequent as the minutes ticked on. It had been a long day and no doubt she was tired. It was late, they'd had a fun day swimming at the lake followed by dinner and a bonfire. They all still smelt of woodsmoke. Laura had gone inside to take a shower and Clint followed with Nathaniel, who had been fussing to eat again.

"Do you see it?" Cooper asked. He nudged Natasha with his shoulder and then pointed up to the sky. "Pegasus, the horse. It's huge. Way cooler than dinky little Aries."

"I see it! I see it!" Lila said, outlining the body and legs with her outstretched finger.

"Yes, I do."

"That's where the Andromeda Galaxy is, too, by that back leg there," Cooper informed them. Natasha gave a soft "Huh," of interest.

"How many different galaxies are there?" Lila asked.

"Nobody knows. NASA hasn't found the edge of the universe and there are whole galaxies and solar systems further away than scientists can tell." Cooper said quickly. After a brief pause he turned to Natasha and asked, in a slightly less confident voice, "Right?"

"Mmhmm," she affirmed.

"Auntie Nat," Lila said, looking up at Natasha inquisitively. "Are there any nice aliens?"

"Duh, stupid, Thor is nice. We met him."

"Cooper—" Natasha started to scold him for calling his sister 'stupid' but Lila cut in.

"He stepped on my Legos."

"But he's still a good alien. He works with Dad and Aunt Nat."

"He doesn't look like an alien," Lila said skeptically. Cooper let out a '_tut'_ under his breath. Lila curled into Natasha's side and she instinctively put an arm around the little girl, holding her with her hand resting between Lila's shoulder blades.

"Well he comes from another planet, so he counts as an alien," Cooper told her with as much patience as he could muster. Lila looked up at Natasha for confirmation.

"That's true," she said. Lila mumbled something before settling back against Natasha. The next few minutes passed in silence and the slow, steady breathing to her right told Natasha that Lila had fallen asleep. Cooper seemed to notice the change, too. He put both hands under his head and turned his head toward Natasha.

"Is she asleep?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you something?" His voice sounded serious beyond his 9 years.

"Of course," Natasha told him, wondering what this could be about.

"You've gotta promise not to tell mom or dad."

"What is it?"

"You're trying to avoid promising me," Cooper said with a shrewd expression. Natasha had to give him a small smile at that.

"Okay, I promise," she said. She could still feel Lila's slow and even breathing with her hand on the child's back. "What's up, _bratik_?" He took a deep breath in and out, then turned so he was again lying flush on his back and looking up at the sky. There was a look of pensive deliberation on his face. His expression gave Natasha the impression that he had been wanting to ask her something for a long time, but wasn't sure whether he should.

It didn't take long for him to blurt out his question.

"Is there a God?" he asked suddenly and softly, an edge to his voice carrying a fear of speaking the question aloud.

Natasha blinked up at the stars and thought for a moment about how best to answer.

"I don't know," she said, exhaling and turning her head toward him. She put her free hand back behind her head as a cushion and they looked at each other in the darkness. "Nobody does for sure. Why?"

"Just wondering. My mom and dad say there is, but I know there are lots of people who don't think so."

"Your parents have faith."

"But they don't _know_," Cooper said, sounding saddened by the realization.

"No," Natasha agreed. "But faith isn't a bad thing."

"Isn't that like lying?"

"Not really. Your parents love you and want you to be happy. They believe having faith will help you be good person. Besides, there's no way to prove God exists or doesn't exist, so it's not really a lie if you say God does exist or doesn't."

"Oh, ok," Cooper said, taking a minute to process this.

"Any reason in particular you've been thinking about this?" she asked gently, wondering if something had happened recently to spark the question in the little boy's mind. Although, she thought, he wasn't quite so little anymore. "Did something happen?"

"Not really." He didn't elaborate, even though the pause in conversation led Natasha to believe he was considering it. "So what about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you believe in God?"

Natasha looked back up at the night sky glittering with stars. She'd didn't really, but she there were still odd moments in her life when she thought, _maybe_. When things seemed too good or bad or extraordinary to have fallen into place by random chance, or even just thinking about how life could have formed from nothing, she wondered.

"I don't know," she told him honestly.

"Huh." He sounded both surprised and a little disappointed by her answer.

"So why did you ask me not to tell your parents about this?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Guess I don't want to hurt their feelings by asking."

"I see," she said, reaching out to ruffle his hair gently, thumb resting on his temple. "Listen, I've known your mom and dad a long time. They would be proud of you for asking. I don't think that would hurt their feelings at all."

Cooper gave her a small smile, which she could barely make out.

"You think so?"

"Yeah," she said. "And if you're ever nervous to talk to them, I promise you can always talk to me about anything."

"Okay," He said, his voice sounding more confident. He stared up at the sky for another minute before adding, "We should probably go in now. We've been out here a while and I'm out of constellations."

Natasha smiled at him through the darkness. She disentangled herself from Lila as she and Cooper sat up, and then his arms were around her neck and he hugged her tightly.

"Thanks for being real with me," he murmured. Natasha rested her hand on the back of his head and held him until he pulled back. Wordlessly, he stood and stretched before the two of them walked back into the house, Natasha carrying Lila and Cooper, the picnic blanket. The vastness of the stars and curiosities of the universe and uncertainties about God were left outside in the glittering night sky.

.

* * *

.

The day of Natasha's departure was drizzly and gray, and being stuck indoors posed a different set of challenges for a family with energetic young kids in a small-ish house. Clint and Natasha had already set up a "laser grid" obstacle course in the upstairs hallway, and they had been through three different board games by the time noon rolled around. The boredom was enough that Clint broke down and pulled the kids' video game system down from a cabinet in the laundry room to help pass the time.

"So what time do you think Captain Rogers is going to be here?" Laura asked, looking up from her tablet across the kitchen table where Natasha sat. She checked her phone. Steve was currently flying one of the Avengers quinjets out to the farm for the dual purpose of delivering two boxes of Clint's belongings from the Tower and flying Natasha back to the new headquarters. Training with the new team wouldn't start for another week, but there was so much else to be done that she could no longer justify putting off her return.

"Not sure," Natasha shrugged. "Based on when he left, maybe 15 more minutes?"

"I can't believe Captain America is coming back to our house!" Cooper exclaimed, taking his concentration off of the video game he was playing with Clint for just long enough to make his car veer off the track on the screen and for Clint's avatar to zoom past. "Darn it!"

"He's been here before, dummy" Lila said from her spot on the couch, where she was waiting for her turn at the game.

"That's why I said 'again' peabrain—" Cooper retorted, and their conversation devolved quickly into routine sibling bickering.

"You sure you can't stay longer?" Laura asked Natasha, handing Nathaniel over to her so she could stand and stretch. The baby's periods of alertness were more frequent now that he was nearly one month old, and he reached his arms out reflexively as Natasha took him from Laura and settled him against her chest, allowing the infant to rest his head on her shoulder. Her hand brushed the fine golden hair that now covered his head.

"I've put it off as long as I can," she said. Natasha saw that the disappointment in her voice was reflected in the expression on Laura's face. "Hey, we're leaving Clint with you. That's something," she teased, and Laura chuckled. There was a disappointed groan from Cooper as Clint won the racing game, and Lila jumped up happily to take over his controller.

"Cooper, come help me with lunch please," Laura said from the kitchen.

"But—"

"Now." The grumbling was minimal as Cooper took his place in the kitchen. He began to butter slices of bread for grilled cheese sandwiches. Natasha felt a tug around her neck and saw that Nathaniel had reached a tiny but strong-fingered hand to grasp the gold arrow necklace that she wore. She gently broke his grasp on the chain.

"Careful now, _zoloty_, don't break it," she murmured to the baby. Just as she had released the chain from the baby's grasp and he was gripping her finger instead, her phone chirped. She contorted her upper body to reach around to extract it from a back pocket of her jeans, but before she was able to, there was a knock at the door.

"I'LL GET IT!"

"No, _I'll_ get it!" Cooper and Lila shouted and made a dash for the door. There was a brief scuffle but ultimately Cooper's size won out and he pulled the door open. Both kids stepped back, frozen for a split second. Natasha approached and was just close enough to hear Lila mutter "whoa" in awe under her breath.

"Hi," Steve said from the front porch, shaking water from his umbrella. He was dressed in his usual sturdy shoes, slacks and button-down with the sleeves folded back twice. His hair was rain-dampened but neatly combed as always. Beside him sat two medium-sized cardboard boxes.

"C-come in," Cooper said, mouth still partly agape at the idea of Captain America standing on his family's front porch. He and Lila took two large steps back to make space for him.

"Hey, Steve," Natasha greeted, nodding in his direction from where she stood. Steve greeted her, leaned down, and lifted both boxes in one motion before he stepped across the threshold. Cooper closed the door behind him and Steve set the boxes down next to the door. Clint had reached them by that time, a wide grin on his face and a hand outstretched.

"Hey Clint," Steve said with an easy smile that matched Clint's enthusiasm.

"Cap," he replied. They shook hands before embracing like old friends. Which, Natasha supposed, they really were at this point.

"You look well," Steve told him. "Retirement suits you."

"I won't lie, I'm loving it so far," Clint grinned. Steve removed his shoes before entering and shaking hands with each of the kids in turn. Cooper and Lila looked thrilled at shaking hands with him and even more beside themselves that Captain America knew each of their names. On his previous visit, the team had seemed to blow in and out very quickly and since they were on mission there was no time to spend visiting with their host family.

"Where's Laura?" he asked, looking around.

"Stressing over lunch," Clint said. "Speaking of which, Cooper, didn't your mother give you a job to do?" Cooper looked crestfallen at having to leave the site of the excitement, but a stern look from Clint spurred him on and he rejoined his mother in the kitchen.

"Hey Nat," Steve grinned at her and nodded toward the now-sleeping infant on her shoulder. "Is this Nathaniel?"

"The one and only," Clint said proudly.

"I'd offer to let you hold him, but that might violate Rule #1," Natasha told him with a wink at Lila, who grinned.

"Rule #1?"

"Don't wake the baby," Lila said in a loud whisper.

"I will not risk violating that rule," Steve said, following the rest of the group into the house toward the kitchen. "Besides, the baby looks pretty comfortable right where he is. If only the folks at SHIELD could see the tough-as-nails, all-business Natasha Romanoff now," the remark was light and teasing, but the expression in his eyes softened his smirk; it was almost like pride. Natasha gave him a warning glance but didn't contradict him.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Lila said indignantly, arms crossed over her chest and her brows knit. "Girls can be smart and kick butt _and_ take care of babies, right?" She looked over at Natasha with piercing dark eyes, but it was Laura who answered.

"Lila, chill, Captain Rogers was only joking," Laura said from the kitchen, where she'd heard the entire exchange.

"But yes, that's exactly right," Natasha told her. "Your mom is an excellent example. Although maybe don't spread this around headquarters," she said to Steve, gesturing to the infant resting on her shoulder.

"Yeah, she's got a reputation to protect," Clint grinned, and his remark was only half-serious.

Laura emerged from the kitchen to greet Steve properly and everyone pitched in to set the table and finish getting lunch ready. Natasha put Nathaniel down in the bassinet in the living room and rejoined the rest at the table for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Much of the meal was spent with the kids peppering Steve with questions about being Captain America, their excitement palpable. All too soon, the meal was over and Lila and Cooper had dragged Steve over to play video games with them. Laura had left to feed the baby, and Natasha and Clint were left to clear the table.

"Last chance," Natasha said to Clint as she loaded several plates into the dishwasher. "You can come back with us." Clint stopped washing out the soup pot and gave her a hard look.

"I'm gonna miss you," he said. Natasha shrugged. It had been worth a shot.

"The team won't be the same without you."

"Well, you're not aiming for 'the same,' are you? You're aiming for 'better.'"

Natasha wanted to argue the point but stopped herself. This was what Clint wanted, retirement and more time with his family. She couldn't imagine that kind of life because she simply wasn't that person. She craved purpose and found it in her work; without that she felt she'd suffocate.

This was where their partnership ended. She was certain that even though it felt like a significant loss for both of them, she couldn't help feeling like the loss shook her more deeply. Natasha didn't like to admit how much safer she felt with Clint watching her six on missions, and the thought of going out into hostile territory with a team that did not include him left her feeling unguarded.

"I'm going to miss you, too," she told him, staring intently into the dishwasher.

He draped an arm across her shoulders and squeezed. Natasha looped her arm around his waist and they stood like that together in the kitchen for a few more moments.

Not long after, everyone gathered in the entryway for goodbyes, her duffel bag sitting on the floor near the front door. Steve shook hands with Clint and the kids and hugged Laura, thanking them for their hospitality. Natasha circulated among them as well, kissing Nathaniel's head before hugging Cooper and Lila in turn. Clint embraced her silently, their words already having been spoken. Laura hugged her last, wrapping her arms around Natasha tighter than ever, her brown eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"Honey, we'll miss you," she said. "Just call if you ever need anything, okay? We're not going anywhere." She brought her hand up to cup Natasha's cheek before pulling her into another hug and whispering, "You take care of yourself."

"I will. I'll be fine, Laura." Natasha was surprised at how teary her friend was at her departure and thought privately that she would like to have the more emotionally stable, pre-pregnancy Laura back. Regardless, she appreciated the sentiment.

Both Cooper and Lila rushed back in for last hugs and calls of "Bye, Auntie Nat," before darting back to the television and resuming their game. Natasha hoisted her bag over her shoulder and said a quick "see you later" to Clint and Laura before disappearing out the front door with Steve close behind her.

Clint and Laura watched their retreating backs from the window of the house, Steve holding the umbrella over both of them and Natasha with her duffel slung over her shoulder. They watched as Natasha bumped Steve with her shoulder in what looked like a playful manner as they continued around the twisting path toward the quinjet. Clint rested his arm on Laura's waist.

"I still want to be selfish," Laura told him, a tear spilling over.

"She's gonna be just fine," he reassured both his wife and himself. Laura sniffled and nodded, drying her tears of worry and sadness before the two of them turned back to manage their 3 healthy, energetic children — together.

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Fin.

(Of this chapter. Don't worry, the plan is still for three more installments).

I've had a jump in reviews since the last chapter was posted, and I sincerely appreciate all of your feedback. It's incredibly rewarding to know that you are out there enjoying the story. To all of my reviewers, I see you and thank you.

Y'all are the best.

Until next time :)


	11. Chapter 11

Happy end of July to you all!

Thanks again so much to all of you who have posted your reviews, I truly appreciate all of the feedback. FF also says that more than 80 of you are following this story, which is just incredible to me. This story has been so fun and mollifying for me to write and it's all that much more rewarding to know that so many others appreciate it.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own or financially benefit from anything in the MCU or any recognizable works mentioned here.

SPOILER ALERT: This fic contains spoilers for the MCU movies through Captain America: Civil War. There is also a slight spoiler pertaining to the aftermath of that movie that does NOT reveal any major plot points for later films (Clint's house arrest). There will be no flash-forwards.

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Winter 2016—Part I

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"She's here! I see her!" Cooper whispered loudly, twisting around in his seat for a better look. "She changed her hair, remember?" He stood up and waved both his arms before Clint or Laura could respond.

Natasha spotted the 10-year-old, shaggy-haired boy immediately in the crowded theater. She nodded at him in acknowledgement and he grinned. He said something she couldn't hear, she was too far away and there was already a loud hum of activity as the audience assembled. Clint and Laura turned and scanned the theater. Clint spotted her before Laura did and he waved her unnecessarily toward where they sat. She found their row, edging her way through the other patrons muttering "excuse me" several times, and eventually reached the Bartons and the empty seat they had saved for her.

"You made it!" Cooper said happily, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm glad you found us."

"Well, you weren't exactly being subtle," she teased, returning the hug and moving to greet Clint and Laura. "Where's Nathaniel?"

"At home with the sitter," Laura said. "We didn't think he'd tolerate a 2-hour ballet performance."

"Hey Clint," she said, hugging her best friend before catching his hand and squeezing. "How're you holding up?"

"Oh, you know, living the criminal life." He gave her a small smile but failed to hide the hint of bitterness in his voice. He patted his left leg to indicate the location of the ankle monitor concealed under his slacks. "Still getting used to my new accessory." Natasha read the weariness in his eyes easily and she pressed her lips into a line. She didn't love the deal Clint had been more or less forced to make, but it gave him a lot of relative freedom and allowed him to be home with his family.

"Still, it was pretty nice of your friend Craig to let you have the night out," she said, referring to Clint's probation officer.

"Chad," he corrected, wincing.

"Whatever."

"Either way, he's about as good as I can ask for. He's a big fan of the Avengers, thinks Cap got shafted by the media and the World Council. Tends to be lenient with my requests to leave the property."

"Could be worse," she said sympathetically.

The lights overhead blinked on and off, signaling the impending start to the show. They all slid down into the well-worn upholstered seats of the theater. Laura reached across her husband to hand Natasha a folded paper program: _The Nutcracker Ballet_. She flipped through it and, sure enough, she found Lila's name listed on the second page. She elbowed Clint in the ribs.

"You didn't tell me she has three parts," she said, half-indignant and half-impressed.

"She really wanted to surprise you, Nat," Laura said with a smile, leaning across Cooper. "Lila's becoming quite the little ballerina. Granted, it's a relatively small production, but still—"

"Shhhhhhhh," Cooper hushed them as the lights grew dark.

Natasha looked up to the stage with the rest of the audience. Lila danced into the limelight almost at once as a child party guest in a gossamer blue dress, and though she was only eight years old it was evident she had blossomed into a great little dancer. Her movements were fluid and precise, more than Natasha had thought possible for a child so young, and she was unable to take her eyes off of Lila while she was on stage. During the battle scene, she convincingly portrayed one of the toy soldiers wearing her fiercest facial expression and during her third appearance—dancing as a little snowflake in a sparkly white outfit—Natasha understood why Lila had asked for help with her turns during her previous couple of video chats. She nailed every one and Natasha was taken aback by how proud she was of her young niece. She was able to hold her own even with much older and more advanced dancers on stage.

At the end of the show, the family spilled out into the lobby of the theater with everyone else and Laura disappeared backstage to retrieve her daughter. When they emerged, Lila wearing her warm-ups and still in her stage makeup, the crowd in the lobby had thinned considerably. Lila had a grin on her face that grew wider when she spotted Clint, Natasha, and Cooper waiting.

"Auntie Nat, you made it! Did you see me?" She jumped inter Natasha's arms and wrapped her legs around her waist. Natasha had to brace herself—even though Lila was small for her age, she was still not as little as she used to be. She hugged Lila and smiled.

"I did. You danced beautifully, _Myshka_." Lila frowned, a tiny crease between her eyebrows.

"I made a wrong step during the toy soldier dance."

"Well, you covered it up so well that I didn't even notice," Natasha reassured her, setting Lila back down.

"I wish Bibi could have seen me," Lila said sadly.

"Oh sweetie, I'm sure she's watching from heaven," Laura reassured. It was Clint's turn to give her a congratulatory hug and a small bouquet of flowers he'd brought for her.

"Yep," Cooper agreed sadly.

Natasha said nothing. She and Bonnie, Laura's mother, had never really been friendly, but it had still come as an unpleasant surprise when Clint had told her of the older woman's passing two months before. The stroke had been massive and unexpected, Bonnie had seemed in excellent health for her age. When Laura had texted the information regarding the funeral, she had considered going just to support the kids, but she'd been in New Zealand with the others at the time and sent her condolences instead.

Laura checked her watch and sighed.

"We'd better start heading back," she said significantly to Natasha. She understood Laura's meaning and nodded, not wanting Clint to run into any trouble with a potential curfew violation. They herded the rest of the family out to the parking lot and after some protesting from both kids (until reminded them which car the snacks were in), Cooper and Lila went with Laura and Clint rode shotgun with Natasha in her rental car to keep her company. They buckled their seatbelts and Clint helped navigate Natasha onto the correct highway before leaning back in his seat. He stretched his arms and rested his hands behind his head, looking over at her. Her features were cast in an eerie glow from the lights on the dashboard.

"So—"

"So…" Natasha echoed. "How are things." Clint gave a soft derisive laugh.

"Oh, just super," he said bitterly. "You know, just hanging out being a criminal."

"Clint, you're not—"

"Not a criminal?" he finished. "They don't slap ankle monitors on innocent guys."

"You and I both know you couldn't run," she said quietly. "Same with Scott. You guys have families."

"Yeah," Clint said. Natasha couldn't understand the anguish in his voice until he spoke his next words— "A family that is public knowledge now."

Natasha fell silent. She knew that of everything that had come out of the Avengers' little civil war and subsequent fracturing, that was the thing Clint regretted most — having to disclose the existence of Laura, the kids, and the farm to the World Council. It had been hard on all of them, and every time they talked about it Natasha could hear the regret and bitterness in his voice. Their house had been visited, measured, inspected by law enforcement. Their movements were being monitored, and Laura had confided to her over the phone that the entire ordeal had felt like an incredible intrusion on their family life and an invasion of the privacy and anonymity they had previously enjoyed.

Things had been especially difficult for Cooper and Lila, who had gone from living normal childhoods to being thrust into an unflattering spotlight. Everyone in their small community now knew the true nature of Clint's work as well as the details the World Council had publicized regarding the Sokovia Accords. Almost overnight, their dad been labeled a war criminal and it didn't matter how resilient those kids were, there was no use pretending that this didn't deeply affect them.

When the team had fractured, it had been painful for Natasha to see Clint, Sam, Wanda, and even Scott be taken into custody. Watching Rhodey as he was lifted helplessly onto a stretcher was even worse. She'd had no idea what would happen to any of them and she'd only just started to ponder their best options going forward when Tony betrayed her. At least, it felt like a betrayal. She'd sided with him over the Accords, but he'd learned of her actions in helping Steve and Bucky to escape Germany unscathed and it dealt a blow to his ego that he couldn't easily brush off. When he'd informed her the World Council was coming for her, she had been furious with him but had no choice but to brush it aside, pack some things, and vacate the Avengers facility.

Natasha had dreaded making that first phone call to Laura after Clint was arrested in Berlin. She'd had no other information, but she hadn't wanted her friend to worry whether her husband was alive. It had been an unpleasant conversation, having to explain that she'd been on the other side of the fight initially, trying to convey how disappointed she was that Clint had been dragged out of retirement and into the mess in Germany. It had gone as well as she had hoped. What was worse was the panicked phone call from Laura when two squad cars and a tactical van were stationed around the farm when she woke up the morning after Clint was taken into custody. Natasha had been unsettled at the news and advised Laura to stay put with the kids until Clint was able to call, which fortunately had been later the same day.

The World Council had pulled everyone's known addresses set up surveillance in case one of them tried to return home. For Steve and Natasha, for whom the Avengers compound _was_ their home, this was especially painful; Tony likely wouldn't have let them come back even if they'd wanted to cut a deal with the World Council. He may have allowed Wanda back, but she made it clear she wasn't interested. Law enforcement already knew about Scott's daughter, but none of them seemed to be aware of Clint's family until they put surveillance in front of the farmhouse.

Natasha had spent a couple of days at one of her safehouses trying to track where Steve and Bucky had gone as well as where the others were being held. It had taken some time, but she'd managed to get word to Steve that they were being held in a maximum-security facility in Siberia. They'd worked out a rendezvous in an isolated farm town in upstate New York and Natasha was surprised to see when she boarded the jet that Bucky was nowhere to be found. Steve shrugged her off, refocusing their energy on rescuing the others.

Whatever Tony's feud with Steve had entailed, it was clear Tony hadn't thought the consequences for most of the team would be as damaging as Ross was threatening. It came as a surprise to her and Steve when Stark's legal team contacted them to help Clint and Scott mediate the deals to go under house arrest in exchange for cooperation. Natasha couldn't think up a better deal for them aside from complete freedom. The rest of their team no longer had a home to go to, and on top of that they all knew that Ross would continue to hunt them.

The change was hardest on the kids, who had struggled to handle their family's newfound notoriety in their small community. Laura shared with her during one secure phone conversation that the only saving grace was Cooper and Lila having some background knowledge of what their father and Natasha actually did for a living. After the fiasco that was Cooper's discovery of Natasha's past misdeeds while watching the news at a friend's house, Clint and Laura had told the older kids about SHIELD and their fathers role in the Avengers. They had also loosened their restrictions on the kids' media exposure quite a bit at home, agreeing that it was better to expose Cooper and Lila to world events at home, where it was safe to ask questions and to moderate their explanations.

The one thing the Bartons never could have predicted was the turn of events placing both Clint and Natasha—whom the older kids had always seen as the "good guys"—on the wrong side of the hero-villain divide.

Natasha had held several video and phone conversations with Cooper and Lila, answering their questions and providing explanations for the discrepancies with how she and the others were being portrayed on the news as best she could. The had both initially been understandably confused and skeptical. Things had only begun to feel more normal between all of them within the past couple of months. Of everything she and Clint had been through together with SHIELD and the Avengers, the fracturing and dividing of the Avengers affected the rest of the Bartons the most.

A street light briefly cut through the darkness in the car. Natasha blinked out of her reverie and swallowed hard, staring off at the highway stretching into the distance in front of her.

"I'm sorry, Clint," she murmured earnestly. Clint blew a long exhalation through pursed lips and started out at the highway, too.

"Not like this is your fault, exactly," he told her. "I know you were just trying to keep the team together."

"Well, as you can see, I did a bang-up job," she sighed softly and shook her head. "Look at us now. Rhodey paralyzed, You and Scott locked down, Sam and Steve on the run, Wanda and Vision more or less in hiding—"

"Tony still seems to be living his best life," Clint spat bitterly. His anger with Tony for having him and the others arrested, exposing his family, and turning on Natasha so that she was forced into hiding threatened to boil over.

"But Rhodey still needs a lot of therapy," Natasha reminded him. "Tony's got a lot of guilt about that. I think it's why he went after me."

"Well, also, you let Steve and Bucky escape," he said, smirking at her, face briefly illuminated by an oncoming headlight. Natasha said nothing. "So T'Challa is back in Wakanda, Tony's spider kid is probably back to his own life, and Banner's still MIA. Unless you've heard—"

"No," Natasha said, her voice low and hollow. Whatever she'd had with Bruce was long over. He had never stayed in Hulk form for so long, so she concluded that he did not want a reconciliation. She didn't exactly blame him, he fought tooth and nail to avoid transformations and she had forced him into this last one. He had been close to Tony, though, so she wondered whether he had reached out to him at all in the past year. Did he know his old team had splintered apart?

"Sorry again to hear about Bonnie," she said honestly. "How are Laura and the kids doing with that?"

"As well as can be expected. The kids are okay. It still hits Laura in pretty bad waves every few days. Even with their disagreements, Bonnie was her mom and they were pretty close," Clint told her. He drummed his fingers on the windowsill and pointed ahead. "Take this next right. There's a bridge out ahead."

The remainder of the car ride passed in a pensive silence that was punctuated only by Clint's spoken directions. They pulled into the drive of the farmhouse, past a beat-up Mazda parked near the front of the drive, gravel crunching under the tires, and Natasha saw that Laura wasn't home yet. The house was decorated for Christmas, with lights that mimicked icicles strung from the eaves and front porch overhang, a large evergreen wreath on the door and smaller wreaths set with electric candles hung in each of the front windows. Lights glowed through the first floor window. The whole effect was warm and welcoming.

"I like the decor," Natasha commented.

"Thanks. Those lights was a real pain but I think they turned out pretty good." Natasha made to open the door and step out of the car but Clint put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "Babysitter," he reminded, and she nodded, slipping back into the car.

She pulled her coat more snugly around and watched as Clint disappeared through the front door. It took less than five minutes before a petite teenage girl emerged from the house, made her way to her car, and pulled out of the driveway. Natasha watched the taillights disappear up the road before she retrieved her bag and hurried up the steps to join Clint in the house. She saw at once that some of the furniture had been shifted to make way for a large fir tree bedecked with white lights and dozens of colorful ornaments.

"Sorry about that," Clint said. He looked apologetic. Natasha saw now that a small golden-haired toddler was standing in his green dinosaur footie pajamas with his arms around Clint's left leg, looking up at her warily. She closed the door, set her bag at her side, and crouched down to his level.

"_Preevyet_, Nathaniel," she smiled at him. "Hi, remember me?" In answer, Nathaniel buried his face in Clint's leg. Clint bent down to rest his hand on his son's head.

"Nate, this is your Auntie Nat. Remember how we practiced saying her name?" The toddler remained still. Natasha reached out to ruffle his hair softly and stood again.

"It's okay," she said. It had been a couple of months, and with her new hairstyle she wasn't surprised that Nathaniel hadn't immediately recognized her. At her words, he looked up at her and blinked. His eyes were the exact shade of pale blue as Clint's. The child remained silent. Clint gestured down the hall.

"Your room's ready, I put new sheets on the bed earlier. If you're tired, you're welcome to head to sleep early. I'm going to put this guy back to bed."

Laura and the other kids arrived back not long after, bursting with energy and squabbling about something in the way that siblings do. Natasha joined them all in the living room because Lila insisted on doing a private showcase of her ballet steps. Cooper groaned at this and retreated to his bedroom, insisting that 2 hours of ballet was already too much for one day, but Natasha and Laura spread out on the sofa to watch.

"It's okay if you were watching the other dancers. They were really good," Lila said. "I can do my parts here. Laura caught Natasha's eye when Lila wasn't looking and smiled; she had surely seen this routine a hundred times over the last couple of months of rehearsals and endless practicing. Natasha responded with a look of sympathy but turned toward Lila. She nodded encouragingly, looking forward to seeing her dance up close. "Okay, Mom, I'm ready. Cue music!"

She took her position and Laura obliged her by starting up the Nutcracker songs on her phone and cranking the volume. Lila's eyes became sharp and focused as she started to dance. Every step, leap, turn, and arm movement was just as polished up close as Natasha had seen from her seat in the theater during the live performance. When she'd finished each dance, Laura and Natasha both clapped and Lila's face shone with pride and satisfaction.

"Wow, Lila," Natasha told her. "You're dancing so well, you've definitely been practicing." A smile lit up the little girl's face at the praise.

"Yep."

"Does dancing still make you happy?"

"Yes!" Lila exclaimed, and there was no mistaking the beaming smile on her face. Natasha smiled at her, reaching out to cup her cheek.

"Good, because that's what's important." Laura gave her a look from off to the side and mouthed 'thank you.'

"And on that note, it's late, time for bed," Laura said. "Go change, I'll come up in a minute to help you get that makeup off.

"Awww," Lila groaned, pulling a face of distaste but obeying her mother anyway. She hugged Laura and Natasha goodnight before heading up the stairs.

"Please tell Cooper it's bedtime, too," Laura called after her.

"Okay," Lila's voice floated back down the staircase. Laura draped her arms over the back of the couch and rested her head back on the cushions, exhaling audibly.

"What a day," Laura said. She turned her head to give Natasha a surveying look. "So how've you been, honey?"

"Still a fugitive," she said with a bitter laugh. "Kind of hard to live your best life while on the run. How are you guys holding up?" Laura gave a heavy sigh and paused for a beat, pushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Every day gets a little easier. Clint's going stir crazy, he's tearing apart and redoing parts of the house again to blow off steam. Cooper and Lila—" she broke off, trying to find the words. "They're okay. At least, in a way better place than they were when all this first went down. Cooper's handling all of the negativity so well, he's surprised both of us, but Lila's still getting into the occasional fight at school," she sighed. Natasha's eyebrows shot up.

"What do you mean, '_still_ getting into fights?'" By her expression, Laura could tell that this was new information to her. She shook her head in disbelief.

"Sorry, Nat, I thought Clint told you. Lila hasn't handled everything quite as well as Cooper. All of the negative light that was cast on you and Clint, especially on your pasts, most of that was new to her. She's not used to the bullying from classmates. Plus, losing her grandmother on top of that…" Laura's voice trailed off.

"She does have Clint's quick temper," Natasha states, and Laura nodded.

"It's been getting her into trouble," Laura told her, pulling her legs up and sitting cross-legged on the couch to face Natasha, head in hand and elbow resting on the back of the couch. For the first time since being back, Natasha could see the profound exhaustion in her friend's eyes and felt a tug at the pit of her stomach. "Her teachers were lenient with her in the beginning, considering, but the school doesn't tolerate violence. She's been involved in several shouting matches and got detention once for sucker-punching a kid. There have been a couple of other accusations of gut-punching and stomping insteps, but never enough witness report for the school to do anything else."

Natasha could feel her eyebrows start to knit together with concern and a thread of guilt. Of course, she had taught Lila and Cooper both those moves for self-defense early this year, as a way to buy time and flee an attacker in an emergency. But she had made it perfectly clear at the time that Lila was to never, ever use them to pick a fight. Natasha had thought she'd succeeded in being a largely positive influence in the kids' lives to this point; this behavior certainly indicated otherwise.

"Then," Laura continued, "a bigger kid said some pretty nasty things about Clint and you both. Lila wailed on him, I don't think he was expecting it because he didn't really defend himself much. She broke his nose and one of his teeth before he gave her a black eye, and both got suspended from school." A stunned silence filled the air.

"_Chert,_" Natasha muttered in frustration, more upset with herself than anything else. "Damn it."

"It's not your fault, Nat, and we're working on it. Clint and I put her in play therapy pretty quick after that. Her therapist found out Lila loves ballet and she suggested we double down on the lessons, give her something else to focus on and another outlet for her energy and emotions.

"She's still in school, right?"

"Oh yeah. Clint brought up the idea of pulling her out and homeschooling for the rest of the semester, but I thought the only thing worse for her than going back would be _not _going back." Clint reappeared in the living room just then.

"Yeah, she didn't speak to us for almost three full days, but she went," he said, leaning onto the back of the sofa behind Laura, who moved her elbow to make room. "Nate went down okay, Cooper's reading in bed, and Lila's waiting for you to help with makeup removal duty," he reported, answering the unasked question in her eyes. Laura nodded.

"I should—" she started, making to stand up.

"I'll go," Natasha cut in. She stood and looked between her friends. "I want to talk to her, as long as it's okay with you." They looked at each other and Clint gestured toward the stairs with an open hand.

"Go ahead," he said. "She's waiting in our bathroom." Natasha nodded and made her way upstairs to the master bathroom for makeup remover and cotton balls. She found Lila already there, sitting on the edge of the bathtub reading a book. Lila grinned on seeing her.

"I thought my mom was coming," she said, not sounding disappointed to see her in the slightest. She set her book down.

"I wanted to talk to you." Natasha knelt in front of Lila with a package of makeup-removing towelettes. "Close your eyes." Lila did as instructed and sat perfectly still as Natasha began to clean her forehead and eyebrows in gentle motions.

"Wait," Lila stopped her, biting her lower lip and furrowing her eyebrows. She could tell that something was off. "What did my mom and dad tell you?" Natasha lifted her hand away and sat back on her heels, looking Lila directly in the face.

"They told me about the fighting, including the hitting." Her expression was a mixture of stern reproach and concern. Lila stared down at her hands.

"Do we have to talk about this?" she asked in a very small voice.

"Yes, we do," she said "_Myshka_, everything I've taught you is for self-defense and for emergencies only, _never_ for fighting. I'm very disappointed in your choices." Lila sniffled and Natasha was startled and heartbroken to see a tear splash into the little girl's lap. This was harder than she'd thought.

"They deserved it, all of them," Lila muttered, voice wavering as another tear fell into her lap. Natasha kept her face carefully neutral but Lila continued to avoid her gaze.

"Even if you feel that way, you can't hit people for saying bad things about you." Lila looked up at Natasha, her red-rimmed eyes defiant.

"But it wasn't just me! They were saying bad, bad things about Dad," she asserted. "And also about Mom, and about you, and Captain Rogers and then they started calling me mean things for defending everyone and they wouldn't listen and it wasn't _fair_."

"People say mean things about my friends sometimes, too, but _Myshka,_ that's still not a reason to hit other people," Natasha said evenly. She sat back onto her heels so she was at Lila's eye level.

"They were bullies," Lila muttered, looking back down at her hands. Natasha nodded slowly. Hadn't the Avengers' entire mission been about standing up to bullies, whether it was a super-robot like Ultron or a massively powerful organization like Hydra? Still, Natasha thought of the Avengers before the Accords. Standing up for what they felt was right had caused so much destruction and so many innocent casualties.

"Hitting lots of bullies can turn you into a bully, too," she said as gently as she could. "You have to be careful. Not even Captain Rogers or Mr. Stark can go around hurting everyone who says mean things about them."

"That's what Dad and Mom said." Lila sounded miserable now. "I really didn't mean to be one of the bad guys."

"Lila Grace, you are _not_ one of the bad guys," Natasha said firmly, taking Lila's hands in hers. "You are smart, strong, and fiercely loyal, you just made some bad choices. Everyone makes bad choices sometimes." The little girl sniffled and looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes and mascara bleeding down onto her cheeks with her tears.

"Even you?"

_Especially me_, she thought, nodding in answer.

"Even Mom and Dad?"

"Even them." Thinking back, the worst choice she'd ever seen Laura make was trying to bake and feed them a gluten-free and sugarless cake, but she did not tell Lila this. "The point is that you are better than your bad choices, as long as you learn from them. And that starts with not hitting other kids." She kept her voice balanced between firm and gentle.

Lila nodded, meeting her eyes at last. Natasha squeezed her hands reassuringly before picking up the makeup remover towelette.

"Okay. Let's just get rid of those guys—" she wiped away the lingering tears on Lila's cheeks. "Much better. Now for that mascara…"

Half an hour later, Lila's face was clean, teeth were brushed, and she had changed into her nightgown and slippers. She bounded down to the living room where Clint, Laura, and Natasha were gathered around the fireplace talking in low voices. Her parents hugged her goodnight in turn before she stood in front of Natasha. There was a trace of apprehension in Lila's face when she looked at Natasha, as though she wasn't sure whether her aunt was still upset with her. Natasha reached out and hugged the little girl.

"Know why I wanted to talk to you about the fighting?" she asked in a low voice.

"'Cause my parents asked you to?" Lila whispered. Natasha pulled back and looked into Lila's face. She could see the faint dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose now that the makeup was gone.

"Because I love you." Lila gave her a pained smile and nodded.

"Yeah, that's what my mom and dad said, too," she said, looking between Natasha and her parents. "Wish y'all could love me without so much lecturing."

"And how do we prevent the lecturing?" Clint asked his daughter. She frowned.

"Make good life choices," she droned resignedly, heaving a huge sigh.

"That's right. Now time for bed," Clint told her. "Want someone to tuck you in?"

"Nah, third graders are too old to be tucked in," she said matter-of-factly.

"Lila—" Natasha started. She wanted Lila to end the night on a more positive thought. "You really did dance beautifully tonight. I'm proud of you." Lila beamed. Clint and Laura nodded agreement, but she looked back at Natasha.

"Thanks." Lila paused, contemplating something, and it was a few seconds before she spoke again. "So, you've seen my dancing, can you show us yours?"

"Not tonight, it's past your bedtime," Natasha told her with a shake of her head. Lila shrugged and turned to leave. It was a strange sort of ritual that had developed between them for the past couple of years, ever since Lila had regularly started asking for help in ballet from Natasha. Lila asked for a demonstration of her ballet dancing nearly every visit. Each time, Natasha had replied with a simple 'no' in response and the subject was dropped until the next time. This in itself was strange because Lila was usually so unapologetically blunt and persistent with her curiosity, but Laura and Clint had forbid her prying into this detail of Natasha's life. It was one of the few orders Lila had never thought to disobey.

"Ask me again tomorrow."

Lila turned around, grinning at her in surprise. Clint and Laura looked stunned and the fire continued to crackle behind them. There was a very subtle smile behind Natasha's eyes when she said it.

"Really?"

"Goodnight, Lila," Natasha said lightly. Seeming pleased with herself, Lila turned and skipped up the stairs and disappeared from sight. The three adults remained silent for a moment, only the crackling fire they were gathered around for background noise.

"When did she start saying 'y'all?'" Laura asked. The other two shrugged.

"Beats me. I've never heard her say it before," Clint said with an amused grin. "More importantly, the kids are in bed and we have time to ourselves."

"I brought wine, a nice Malbec from Argentina," Natasha offered, standing to stretch. "Anyone up for a drink?"

"Absolutely," Laura said, glancing at Clint, who shrugged. "I'll get the glasses."

When Natasha returned, Clint and Laura were standing at the kitchen counter speaking in low voices, faces solemn. She saw Clint nod before Laura leaned in, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and lead him out of the kitchen. She placed the wine glasses on the table and Natasha gave the bottle to Clint, who had the wine opener in his hand.

"So when were you in Argentina?" Clint asked as he deftly uncorked the bottle.

"A month or so ago. We've been spending more time internationally until things calm down a little more stateside." Natasha accepted the glass Clint handed her.

"I'm so jealous, I've always wanted to see Buenos Aires," Laura said longingly. She corrected herself almost at once after she saw the dejected look on her husband's face. "Eventually, right? We'll plan a trip for our 15th anniversary." Clint handed her a glass of wine with a very forced smile.

"That sounds great," he told her. The three of them crossed back into the living room and sprawled out on the furniture around the fire.

"_Salud_," Laura said, raising her glass. Clint and Natasha followed suit, Natasha smirking subtly at the inside joke between them that prevented Laura from simply saying 'cheers' over this wine.

"Nat, we want to talk to you about something," Clint said without pretense. "And I know you just got here, but it's really important." Natasha looked over to the other end of the couch where he sat, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. His head was turned to face where she sat, leaning back against the arm of the same couch with her legs stretched in front of her. She immediately sat up straighter and looked to Laura, who was sitting cross-legged on the loveseat. Her face was so sober that Natasha wondered for a split second whether someone had a terminal illness, or if they were concerned about her influence on the kids

"If it's about Lila's fighting—"

"It's not that," Laura said quickly. "It's just, well…" Her voice trailed off and she appeared to be searching for words. She looked to Clint for support and he cleared his throat.

"You have always been so great with the kids," Clint said. "They've known you pretty much their entire lives and it's obvious that they see you almost like a third parent." Natasha frowned, not sure what he was getting at. She looked from him to Laura.

"They love you and they think the world of you," Laura began, her speech measured and careful. "Since my mom passed away, we've been thinking about... about who would take care of the kids if something ever happened to both of us."

Natasha thought she knew where this was going. It was several seconds before she became aware that she was not breathing.

"We know it's a lot, especially right now, so we want you to take your time and think about it," Clint said, meeting her eyes. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. He hadn't been nervous around her in a very long time. "Nat, would you be willing to become the kids' guardian if anything happened to us?"

So many doubts were clamoring inside of her mind that she had trouble getting a handle on them all, but she refocused her concentration when Laura jumped in.

"We don't have other family, at least, not family that we trust or that the kids know," Laura said quietly, and Natasha could tell that she was trying hard not to sound like she was pleading. "And I really don't want them to end up in foster care. It's so unlikely a situation that this is more a precaution, for peace of mind."

Natasha remained silent, staring into her glass of wine, for such a long time that Laura was sure she was thinking of how to say no. She felt tears beginning to well in her eyes and looked at Clint for help again. He cleared his throat.

"Nat?" he prompted. She met his gaze, disheartened, before meeting Laura's eyes instead.

"I'm honored that you asked," she began sincerely, "but I'm still a fugitive, and my job doesn't come with a prolonged life expectancy."

"I don't know, you've always excelled at not dying," Clint said, the shadow of a smirk crossing his face.

"You'll all be cleared of those charges eventually," Laura added. "Besides, if we do the paperwork under your birth name, a county judge won't question that you're the same person as long as a background check under that name comes back clean. I'm also certified as a notary now, so we can do most of the paperwork at home and you can store it somewhere safe."

Natasha was floored by the amount of forethought and planning that Clint and Laura had clearly put into this, but how could they possibly think she'd make a good parent to three young kids?

"You know I couldn't be a perfect guardian," she said slowly, looking between her two friends.

"We don't want perfect," Laura told her. "Hell, _we _are nowhere near perfect. But if the worst happens, we want someone who loves them, who they adore, and who would raise them like we would."

"There's really no one better," Clint said with a glint in his eye.

Natasha had no idea how he could be so certain and he could sense her hesitation. Clint decided to change tactics. He cleared his throat and continued.

"Let me ask you something. If you got a phone call from Cooper saying that Laura and I had both been killed and the police were at the house to put them all in foster care, what would you do?"

"I would get here." Her response was automatic and the words were out of her mouth almost before she'd had a chance to think about it. Anxiety gripped her chest at the thought and a fiercely defensive expression settled over her face; the involuntary response made her mind up for her. Based on the expression on Clint's face, he knew it, too.

"And if the kids were in your care and someone tried to take them away?"

"Let them try," Natasha said, her voice low and tone threatening. She surprised herself with her own intensity. Tears of relief were streaming down Laura's cheeks now. Clint smiled and rested his hand on Natasha's ankle.

"See?" he said quietly. "You're already there. We just want to put it on paper."

"That way, the authorities couldn't challenge it." Laura's voice trembled with emotion. She dabbed at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. "Ugh, I'm a mess, excuse me for a second," she sniffled and stood to make her way down the hall to the bathroom. Natasha swung her legs and planted her feet on the floor, sliding closer to Clint on the sofa. She mimicked his posture, leaning forward to rest her forearms on her knees, and looked over at him.

"Sorry to drop this on you the second you got here. It's just with Bonnie gone, we needed to settle this and it's not exactly a conversation to have over a tapped phone line." Clint looked over at her, firelight reflecting in his blue eyes. She could see the weariness in his face and really see how difficult the last few months had been for them all.

"I understand. But Clint, if something happens before my name is cleared—"

"You're resourceful. We trust you to keep them safe, whatever it takes," he told her. "That's all we want." Natasha's subtle nod of the head was resolute.

"Whatever it takes," she echoed, holding her wine glass out to him. The smallest smile appeared on his lips as he clinked his glass against hers and both took a sip.

"I can't tell you what this means to us, Nat."

"It means you need more friends," she teased lightly, one eyebrow raised. She took another pull of her wine and Clint let out a soft laugh.

"Nah, I'm happy with one really good one," he disagreed. He reached his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. "Even if you _did_ hit me kind of hard in Germany."

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It's a heavier chapter, I know. Everyone's just been in such a crazy place in their lives because that's how life is, right? The difficult times never come in bite-sized manageable pieces or are neatly interspersed at regular intervals. Truthfully, until I started outlining and brainstorming for this chapter, I'd never really considered the extent of the aftermath of Civil War for Clint's family beyond just the ankle monitor.

As a sidenote, I never understood how Clint got basically the same criminal sentence as Scott, who was already in the criminal justice system and an established repeat offender, but that's not really worth the energy to worry over it too much.

That's all for now, look for the next chapter in about a week.

:)


	12. Chapter 12

Friends, get ready for all kinds of Christmas fluff.

This chapter is later than anticipated, a nasty combination of writer's block and a pretty rough couple of weeks at work. For the first time during this saga, I found myself writing, rewriting, deleting, and replacing whole sections of the story over and over just trying do justice to the characters and the storyline.

Spoilers, as always, are current through the timestamp in accordance with the MCU. There are no significant flash-forwards.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own or financially benefit from any aspect of the MCU mentioned here, or for that matter any of the holiday movies or songs referenced.

For the other writers out there: If any part of this story inspires you to write a spinoff of any kind (ie additional visits to the farm, times where the family events affect Clint or Natasha in the field, an alternate where Nat ends up as the kids' guardians), GO FOR IT! I only ask that you please PM me so I can read your works :) There aren't enough hours in the day for me to write everything that I want to, and I would really enjoy reading yours (when I'm through writing the rest of this one).

With that, on to the story!

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Winter 2016 - Part II

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It took some convincing from the entire Barton family, but Natasha relented on her original plans and agreed to stay through Christmas. Her 4-day stay would stretch to 8 days, provided that no part of her visit would get them—especially Clint—into hot water with authorities for suspicion of harboring a fugitive.

"Natasha Romanoff? I've never heard of that person. No, this is my aunt, Natalie Rushman," Cooper said with an innocently nonchalant expression on his face. Laura shook her head and Cooper grinned.

"Very good, Cooper," Natasha said approvingly before catching the reproachful expression on Clint's face.

"Disturbing how convincing that was. We need to learn his tells before he's a teenager," he muttered to Laura, who nodded in agreement.

"Na!" Nathaniel chimed in happily, smacking his palms down on the table of his high chair and sending his crackers flying.

"We'll just stuff him in the closet if someone comes knocking," Lila shrugged.

"Or we will tell people he learned his own name. Close enough," Laura pointed out. "Either way, I'm so happy you'll be spending Christmas with us, Nat."

Natasha had never celebrated Christmas with the Bartons before, or in any meaningful way, for that matter. The Soviet government forbade public religious celebrations while she was growing up, and even after she'd earned her freedom from the KGB she had trouble getting into what Clint called "the holiday spirit." Sure, they'd had small gift exchanges and holiday parties as the Avengers grew closer, but those had been relatively low-key affairs. Being at the farm during the run up to the holiday would be a new experience, she could already tell from the excitement and anticipation in the air.

When she told Clint as much later that afternoon, he grinned at her in response.

"Oh man, Christmas with kids is the best, you'll see," Clint said. He had a gleam of excitement in his eye. "It's a lot of work, but so much fun."

He was right. Lila and Cooper were so excited about her staying with them over Christmas that they had made an impossibly long list of things they wanted to do together. The list included everything from baking and decorating cookies to building a gingerbread house to touring the nearby towns' holiday lighting displays. There were also dozen holiday movies that the kids classified as "critical to the Christmas experience."

"Guys, there's zero snow on the ground," Laura pointed out when the kids showed her the list, which contained '_Make a giant snowman'_ and '_Build an igloo_' as consecutive bullet points. Lila and Cooper gave their mother incredulous looks.

"Mom, it's _Christmastime,"_ Lila said pointedly.

"You never know, we might have a white Christmas," Cooper added. "Don't crush the spirit."

"Yeah, Mama, don't crush the spirit," Clint teased, picking up the list from the table for a closer look. "Ice skating is a good one, I think they do that pop-up rink in Osborn this time of year—" his voice broke into a laugh. "Skiing? You guys have never been skiing in your lives."

"No time like the present," Cooper said with a cheeky grin. Clint's mouth twitched into a small smile, but the tips of his ears reddened. He likely wouldn't be able to take his kids skiing for another year and a half, at least. Cooper hadn't meant it that way, but she knew that those offhand innocent comments from the kids still stung. Natasha gave him a sympathetic look and edged her arm to rest lightly against his as a show of support.

"Well, you've thought up quite a list there," He said, keeping his voice light and handing the sheet of paper back to Laura.

"Oh, you forgot to put the McIntyre's Christmas party on the list," Laura pointed out.

"But isn't the party here this year?" Lila asked.

"Yep, so it definitely needs to be on the list," she said, handing the paper back to Cooper. "Okay, why don't you head upstairs and get dressed so we can start on this stuff."

As soon as Lila and Cooper were out of the room, Laura sank into one of the kitchen chairs. Her facial expression looked pained and Natasha could almost read the expletives that were going through her head. Clint gave a grim smile.

"Forgot about the party, huh?" He asked her.

"Yep," Laura said, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before looking at Natasha, resting her chin in her hand. "I'm sorry, Nat. Our friends have this annual Christmas party, it's been a tradition since Lila was born. It's always a great party, the kids have a blast and look forward to it every year, but-"

"House arrest," Clint cut in grimly. "But they're great people, and they didn't want us to feel shunned or anything."

"So they approached us about having it here this year so that Clint wouldn't miss it."

The following week was filled with moments that became some of Natasha's best memories. She attended her first holiday pageant at Cooper and Lila's elementary school. She sat with Clint and Laura and enjoyed watching the kindergarten teachers attempt to corral their students onto the stage to sing "Deck the Halls." The performances became more advanced as the grade levels progressed. She clapped particularly hard for Lila's class after they finished animated renditions—complete with spirited hand motions—of "White Christmas" and "Jingle Bells."

Natasha also felt a sense of pride in Cooper's newfound AV tech skills. He had always been relatively tech-savvy, but when his father's career path was made public a few months back, Cooper had started to act out. He and a friend began to manipulate the school computers. They were caught by one of the kinder teachers, who had given them the chance to explore their interest in tech through a series of detentions during which they were tasked with creating the lighting cues for the holiday program. Clint had told her that this light show was the culmination of hours and hours of working after school for the past couple of months, and his face had shone with pride when he'd said it.

After a particularly complex series of lighting cues choreographed to his own class singing "Carol of the Bells," Natasha turned in her seat, found Cooper positioned with his friend and their teacher, and gave him a subtle wink of approval. He beamed back at her with a double thumbs-up.

The school year officially ended for winter break following the concert. Laura was grateful to have Natasha around to help with errands and entertaining the kids so she and Clint could do what she called "the parent part" of the holidays. The day after school let out, Clint, Natasha, and the kids spent a full morning and afternoon designing, baking, and building a gingerbread house that exactly resembled the farmhouse, complete with tiny wreaths in the windows and a miniature sugar fondant replica of one of the barn cats sitting on the front porch. Laura was grateful to have the day largely to herself to finish all of the last-minute holiday greeting cards she'd wanted to send.

Nathaniel attached himself to Natasha quickly and she soon found him toddling after her wherever she went. The littlest Barton was endlessly fascinated by the new sights, sounds, and activities that came with the holiday excitement, although his enthusiasm was not always appreciated by his siblings. While they were sitting around the kitchen table decorating sugar cookies, Nathaniel had excitedly put the palm of his hand right through a tree-shaped cookie that Lila had spent almost 20 minutes carefully decorating with individually arranged sprinkle stars. She ran out of the room crying with frustration while Nathaniel clapped and laughed, bits of crumbs and frosting flying from his hands.

Clint and Laura asked Natasha later that evening if she would mind taking the kids out for a few hours the following day. They needed to do a bit of last-minute shopping and gift-wrapping and it would be easier if nobody was underfoot or actively snooping. When Cooper had suggested ice skating, Lila enthusiastically agreed.

That was how Natasha found herself at a seasonal outdoor rink several towns away. The place was cheery, set up in a little town square bedecked with evergreen garlands, red bows, and lights. A large banner reading "Happy Holidays" in printed blue letters flanked with cartoon snowflakes was strung high over the middle of the rink. Festive music played over large speakers, and a stand selling hot chocolate and coffee was set up next to the skate rental tent.

She rented skates for all of them, including the tiniest pair of skates she'd ever seen for Nathaniel.

"Please, please, please?" Lila had begged. "I know he's little, but it will be so _cute_ to watch him try. And Mom and Dad will love it!"

She had relented and strapped the baby skates securely onto Nathaniel's feet before pulling his coat snugly around him. He squirmed in protest. Natasha picked the toddler up and carried him over to the edge of the rink on her hip, her own skates sinking slightly into the thick rubber mat. It was a nice day, overcast but not too cold, and there were only a dozen or so other people at the rink that time of the afternoon. Cooper and Lila had already done a few warm-up laps around the ice and waved at her to join them.

"_Chto, Zoloty_," Natasha said to the toddler, tugging his red fleece hat over his head and securely fastening his helmet on top of it. He paid her no attention, instead captivated by the unfamiliar sights and sounds around him. "You've mostly mastered walking, so this should be a piece of cake," she said dryly. She pulled open the gate and stepped carefully onto the ice.

She knew how to skate, of course, and felt comfortable on the ice. Every child in Russia seemed to learn at an early age. However, Natasha was also very aware of her responsibility to keep the kids safe. She was much more cautious than usual as she crouched down and set Nathaniel onto the ice in front of her. Keeping her hands under his arms, she began to skate very slowly, hunched over, guiding the toddler as she went.

"Oh my gosh, he's skating!" Lila said happily. She and Cooper had appeared at Natasha's side and Cooper was struggling to remove his gloves and extract the family's digital camera from his pocket to record a video.

"I think he's just sort of… gliding," Cooper said, frowning. It was true, Natasha thought, Nathaniel wasn't so much skating as he was alternating between taking short steps on the ice and keeping his skates down while she held him steady and pushed him. The little boy didn't seem to care, he was too busy laughing with delight. Cooper shrugged and began to record a video anyway.

"Go, Nate, go!" Lila cheered, her hand claps muffled by her thick gloves.

"Wave at the camera, Nate!" Cooper said. Natasha was surprised when she saw him stretch his little right hand in front of his body and wiggle his open palm in a faltering wave. "That's so good, buddy!" Cooper encouraged.

Nathaniel smiled and giggled with his siblings at first. After only a couple of minutes, he grew tired of the activity and started to show his boredom by repeatedly trying to simply sit down on the ice. Natasha found herself more or less carrying the toddler in a hunched position after a minute of this. She stood and hoisted him back onto her hip, mindful of where the skate blades were positioned. Cooper still had the video camera trained on them.

"_Dostatochno_," she said, raising an eyebrow and giving a halfhearted wave at the camera. Cooper rolled his eyes and followed his aunt's instruction, turning off the camera and stowing it back in his pocket. They were still standing at the edge of the ice rink.

"_Zachem, Tetya _Nat—" she looked at him hard and the eyebrow went higher, "—alie. Aunt Natalie," he corrected. "Why do you hate being on camera so much?"

"I don't hate it, I just try to avoid it. Especially right now."

"Oh," Cooper nodded solemnly.

"Is it because you're a you-know-what?" Lila whispered. Cooper groaned and put his hand over his eyes, which made Nathaniel giggle and begin to imitate his older brother.

"Lila, sweetheart, your stealth game needs some work," Natasha said.

They skated a few laps together before Natasha needed a break from carrying the chubby toddler. She watched the other two for a while as they probed the boundaries of physics, testing short jumps, wide spins, and backward skating, occasionally calling out warnings to slow down or be careful. She kept her eyes trained on Lila and Cooper even after she felt someone staring at her but after several seconds shifted her gaze. A couple of teenage girls sat on a bench partway around the rink, glued to their cell phones and throwing glances in her direction.

Natasha shifted her weight to turn away from them as one of the teens began to raise her phone and she pretended to check Nathaniel's helmet straps. The toddler paid no attention, instead pointing at her backpack. He babbled something unintelligible. She slid the pack off of her shoulders, dug out a small package of cereal, and smiled at the huge grin on Nathaniel's face as he reached for the bag.

She heard the crash and the cry while her head was turned and whipped around quickly. Lila stood still and a small crowd gathering on the ice rink, but Cooper was lying on the ground. Natasha couldn't tell whether he was moving from a distance and all concerns about being recognized were quickly forgotten. She stuffed down her rising feelings of dread and panic, picked up Nathaniel, and dashed into the rink to skate as quickly as she could to Cooper's side.

"He just fell," Lila cried tearfully as she approached. Natasha set the toddler down at Lila's feet with instructions to watch him before she crouched at Cooper's side. A breath of relief came when he stirred and gave a muffled sob.

"Cooper, open your eyes," she said sharply. He did, hazel eyes brimming with tears. He cradled his left arm in his right

"My arm," he gasped, and the look in his eyes was one of a child who was scared and in pain trying hard to conceal both. He was breathing quickly and shallowly. She heard someone in the crowd say something about calling an ambulance. Her focus remained on Cooper.

"Did you hurt anything else?"

"I don't think so."

"Did you black out?"

"No. It just really hurts," he added in a strained strained whisper. Natasha looked around briefly at the gathering crowd and attempted to wave them off.

"Give us some space," she demanded firmly, not phrasing it as a question. She didn't wait to see if they'd complied before leaning closer to Cooper and resting her hand gently on his back between his shoulder blades. "Think you can sit up?" Cooper bit his lip and nodded. Natasha helped him to sit and he gave a cry of pain when the movement jostled his arm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered with a wavering voice. She ignored this and glanced back at the other two, still standing obediently and watching their older brother with concern. Natasha quickly shrugged off her coat.

"Excuse me, is this yours?" A teenage girl in a matching knit rainbow hat and gloves held out Natasha's backpack. It was the girl who was running the hot chocolate stand. She nodded and took it with a quick thanks.

"Cooper, this is going to hurt for a second, but it should feel better soon." Natasha draped her coat over the front of Cooper's body so the hood was hanging in front of his chest, then carefully positioned it so his injured arm rested in the angle of the hood and tied the arms of the coat around his back and tightly over his right shoulder. The weight of his arm was supported, resting snugly in the hood of the coat.

"Thanks," he said. "Can you help me get up? I want to get out of here."

Natasha helped him up and found two passersby in sneakers were there to help him off of the ice and to a nearby bench. The four of them had their shoes on just in time for the ambulance to arrive and the medics to load Cooper inside. The medics initially told Natasha there was only space for one person in the vehicle but she wasn't about to leave any of them alone. For the first time while with the kids, she had to hold herself back from morphing into anything resembling the dangerous assassin that Cooper and Lila had only heard stories about. Whatever the circumstances, she wanted desperately to keep them from seeing that side of her. The medics finally relented after several minutes of insistently arguing in her most dangerous voice and they were soon en route to the emergency room.

It was half an hour by the time Laura met them at the hospital. She looked much less distraught than Natasha felt and wondered whether her nursing training had desensitized her to the stress-inducing emergency room environment. An x-ray revealed that one of the bones in Cooper's forearm was broken, and a doctor informed them that he'd have to be sedated for the painful process of resetting the bone.

So Natasha kissed Cooper reassuringly on the forehead and left to take the other kids back to the house while Laura remained with her son. Clint's anguish at being kept from going to his injured son's side was palpable. She couldn't find the words to express to him how terrible she felt about the situation, so she just sat with him in silence.

It was hours before Laura and Cooper returned from the hospital, Natasha having accompanied them in order to drive the other car back from the skating rink. A very sullen-looking Cooper, arm in a sling, mumbled a greeting to his father before dragging himself up to his room, interacting minimally with the rest of the family. Lila frowned and climbed the stairs after him. Laura sighed.

"He's pretty upset," she said unnecessarily.

"So, what actually happened?" Clint asked. His voice was casual, concerned, but laced with a brusqueness that Natasha couldn't quite place.

"He was trying to do a jump on the skates and lost his balance," Natasha said, repeating what Lila had told her earlier. "How'd he do setting the arm?" Laura looked sadly between them.

"He was pretty loopy with the medicine he got. Started crying about not being able to go skiing, and—" Laura bit her lip and looked sympathetically at Natasha "—and he is convinced that he gave away your identity and got you into trouble."

Natasha could see why Cooper was concerned. She'd had to give the medics and the hospital her name. She used an alias, but this had not allayed his unease. He had mentioned the idea that someone at the rink might have recorded the incident and captured her face on video.

"He's also embarrassed that you saw him cry," Laura continued in a low voice, smiling with sympathetic amusement at the thought.

Natasha glanced over at Clint, knowing that this thought would normally make him chuckle. Instead, his face was strangely blank, almost stony. His hands remained at his sides but she could see the slightest twitch as the muscles in his arms engaged without tensing up completely. She knew this posture. He felt threatened.

"Clint?" she prompted softly. He swallowed and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"You were supposed to be watching them, Nat." His voice was sharp. By his tone and the rushed words, Natasha could tell he had been keeping this thought to himself ever since the incident.

The words cut through her, but he was right.

"Clint—" Laura started, but he held his hand up to stop her.

"I know. I'm so sorry, Clint," Natasha said remorsefully.

"You were supposed to keep them from doing anything like this. Your job was to stop them before they hurt themselves." His voice was trembling with anger now. This was escalating quickly and as much as Natasha wanted to talk him down, he was right. There was no denying that.

"That's not fair, Clint. It could have happened just as easily if we had been there" Laura asserted. Her voice wasn't raised but her tone carried a clear warning.

"Never has before."

"It was an accident, honey, just bad luck," Laura said, an edge of pleading creeping into her voice now. Natasha could tell she was trying to defuse the situation but was addressing the wrong root cause. The look on Clint's face betrayed his turmoil and a torrent of anger and grief swirled behind his eyes. She knew that none of it was truly directed at her.

"Clint," Natasha started in, voice direct but soft, "I'm sorry you couldn't be there."

Several seconds passed in still silence. Laura took a step toward him and hesitantly moved her hand toward Clint's shoulder. He shrugged off her touch.

"I need to go to the barn for a few minutes," he said suddenly, evading them both, crossing the room toward the back door. Natasha looked at him with a frown

"Want company?"

"No, I need to be alone," he said. She nodded. Refusing a sparring partner at a time like this was unusual, but she knew well that Clint needed space from time to time. There was distress in Laura's face as she watched her husband disappear through the sliding door.

Laura sighed sadly and reached for Natasha's hand. She took it and squeezed gently, trying to convey reassurance. The rapid staccato of footsteps sounded as Lila bounded back down the stairs and they released their grips.

"Cooper's in a mood," she announced.

"That's going around," Laura said.

"Cooper gets a pass on this one, he's in pain and not feeling well," Natasha reasoned. Lila only shrugged.

"I'm hungry, what's for dinner?" Laura stepped behind her daughter, hands on her shoulders, and steered her into the kitchen.

"Let's see what we can whip up."

An hour and a half later, Natasha sat with the others watching "White Christmas" when she heard the sliding door open. Laura heard, too, and both turned to see Clint slip through the doorway, looking sweaty and much calmer than he had the last time they'd seen him. He looked around at his family, the two women on opposite ends of the couch with their legs outstretched, feet and ankles stretched toward the middle. Lila lay curled in the armchair, having fallen asleep partway through the film. Clint made his way over to the couch and nodded to Laura and Natasha.

"Scoot over." They pulled their legs in and Clint sat on the sofa. Laura immediately shifted to lean against him and he put an arm around her shoulders. He nudged the edge of Natasha's foot gently and as he met her gaze with an apology in his blue eyes. He mouthed, "Sorry." The corner of her mouth rose into a small smile.

They were going to be okay.

.

* * *

.

As the days passed and Christmas approached, they resigned themselves largely to simple holiday crafts and movie marathons to accommodate Cooper's temporary limitation. The meltdown that ensued when he realized he couldn't get up into the treehouse took the entire family several minutes to assuage. His initially sullen mood improved two days after the incident, when his friend Nora invited him over to her house to check out some kind of new computer program she'd received from her parents for Hanukkah. Cooper returned from the visit smiling and with his first signature on his cast.

It didn't snow, but they made a point to do many of the other things on the kids' original holiday festivity list. Laura, Natasha, and the kids piled into the car and spent two hours one evening driving around nearby towns to see the lights displays, ranging from pitiful to spectacular, video chatting with Clint the entire time. They made new ornaments for the Christmas tree, watched what felt like a lifetime's worth of Christmas movies, and even attended a holiday party thrown by the Bartons' neighbors.

The party admittedly had not been her favorite part of the visit, but it had certainly been more enjoyable than expected. John and Francesca McIntyre, a couple a few years older than Clint and Laura, were welcoming and bubbly and, as predicted, they were excited to have "another Barton relative" join the party. Laura lent her a dress for the occasion and spent much of the evening strategically introducing Natasha to neighbors who shared common interests to hers. These conversations were punctuated by the occasional interruption from Cooper or Lila, who would pull her over toward the children's activities to show her something or introduce her to a friend as "Aunt Natalie." As more alcohol was consumed, several of the adults cleared a space to dance to the festive holiday music. It all became too much stimulation for little Nathaniel and Natasha took the opportunity to excuse herself from the festivities in order to settle him in bed for the night.

The day of Christmas Eve, Natasha kept her years-long promise to Lila at long last. The morning was busy with last-minute food preparations for the following day, but when she and Clint finished — Laura had run out to the store for a couple of final grocery items — Lila sidled up to the kitchen counter next to her without preamble.

"How about now?" she asked hopefully. It was the same question she'd asked at least once a day since the first night of her visit. Natasha pretended to think about it, but she had made up her mind the night before.

"Sure."

Lila was beside herself with excitement.

Natasha changed into warm-up leggings and a tank top, the closest thing she had to a leotard and tights. She stretched for several minutes before emerging to find Lila waiting eagerly outside of her door.

"You can borrow one of my tutus if you want," she offered enthusiastically.

"That's very nice of you, but I don't think your tutus will fit me," Natasha told her with a small smile. She started into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind her, shoes tucked under one arm.

"Oooh," Lila said, admiring the pale pink pointe shoes Natasha was carrying. Natasha handed them to her and the little girl inspected the rigid toes with admiration. "Mom and Dad won't let me wear pointe shoes yet."

"They're right, your feet need to grow first," she said, ruffling Lila's hair. She tried and failed to duck away from Natasha's hand. "Patience, little one."

"You know, you call me that, but I'm not little anymore Auntie Nat." And yet at bedtime two nights before, Lila had asked her to sing the familiar Russian lullaby that Natasha had used to soothe the kids to sleep when they were small. She'd asked in a whisper so Cooper wouldn't hear and call her a baby. Their desire to grow up so fast made her ache.

Lila led her into the living room, where the rest of the family had assembled and the furniture had been cleared away, and Lila ran to stand on the couch cushions. She radiated excitement.

"Now presenting the lady of the hour, our very own prima ballerina, Natashaaaaa Rrrrrromanoff!" Lila announced with a dramatic flourish of one arm. With the other arm, she tossed Natasha's shoes back to her.

"Geez, kid, she's not a circus show," Clint said as he approached Natasha. He leaned in sideways and lowered his voice. "You sure about this, Nat?"

"Of course," she said easily. "What can I say, I'm in the Christmas spirit."

Natasha laced her shoes tightly and flexed her feet to test them. It hadn't been an easy decision for her, but she had made a promise to Lila. She wanted the Bartons, _her_ family, to see this part of her as a delight rather than a reflection of a terrible past. If they could, maybe she could, too.

The rest of the Bartons took their seats on the couch facing her. She connected her phone to the bluetooth speaker, cued up the correct music, and handed the phone to Clint. Lila was squirming excitedly in her seat between her mother and brother. Even Nathaniel seemed to know something was going on, looking up at Natasha curiously from Laura's lap.

She stepped back into the space that had been cleared of furniture, extended her right leg and arm behind her and took a breath. Exhaling, she closed her eyes and curved her left arm gracefully in front of her.

"Okay." At her words, a piece of music from _Swan Lake_ started to play.

She started with a grande battement and short series of developpes, and even though she could feel everyone's eyes on her, her mind remained remarkably clear. It was what Natasha had continued to practice even all these years after the Red Room, the welcome combination of physical exertion and mental clarity that came with ballet. Her movements matched the music, just as she had practiced, with slight modifications for the size of the space.

The classical music filled her as she completed a short series of pique turns followed by a grand jette, then rising en pointe with one leg curved gracefully behind her and revolving in Arabesque with her arms extended in gentle curves over her head. Her arms rose and fell with the music and she was careful to keep her toes meticulously pointed. She kept her face remained relaxed, she had never smiled while dancing, and her eyes were open but she was careful not to look at anyone.

The orchestral music began to crescendo and Natasha again rose onto her toes for the series of fouettes that would finish the dance. Again and again she turned, arms moving between first and second position as she extended and drew back her right foot with each turn until finally the music was ending. She came out of the final turn, eyes closed, with her right leg outstretched behind her and arms in the same position as when she had started.

She took a deep breath in, then exhaled.

When Natasha opened her eyes, every one of the five Bartons was looking at her in amazement. She unceremoniously dropped her formal position and stood there, unsure exactly what to do or say next.

"Wow," Cooper said, his tone so low that his voice seemed to vibrate involuntarily.

"Holy crap!" Lila whispered excitedly, and it was a mark of how stunned her parents were that they didn't bother to scold her for her word choice.

The next song in the playlist began to sound over the speakers and she crossed to Clint, taking her phone back and stopping the music. He shook his head in disbelief and amusement.

"Ten years," he said. It wasn't a complete thought, but Natasha could intuit his meaning. _Ten years we've known each other, and I had no idea you could do that_. She shrugged and raised an eyebrow. _Don't make a big deal out of it._

"Nat, that was absolutely beautiful," Laura breathed.

"Encore!" Lila shouted. She stood on her couch cushion and applauded enthusiastically. Cooper and Clint began to clap, and even Nathaniel added his arrhythmic clapping and happy laughter to the clamor.

The subtle smile that crossed Natasha's face was part happiness and part satisfied relief, but she found she still wasn't sure what to say. She glanced to Laura, who easily read the expression in her eyes and stood up.

"What do you mean, _encore_? It's time for lunch, we've got a busy day ahead," she declared, setting Nathaniel down. He immediately made for Natasha's shoes, which he saw as a desirable new thing to put his mouth on. She looked at Laura with gratitude, Laura's eyes full of understanding, before crouching beside Nathaniel and wresting her shoe gently from his grip. He began to cry almost immediately, after which point the house returned to its baseline level of chaos.

The afternoon flew by in a haze of activity. Steve and Sam were coming for Christmas Dinner with the Bartons before the two of them and Natasha flew out for their next job. Laura was beside herself at the thought of having the two guests over for dinner. She was neurotically fussing over every detail regardless of how much Natasha and Clint reassured her that despite their jobs, both were friends who would enjoy the meal regardless of how everything turned out. The older kids remained cloistered for much of the afternoon, putting finishing touches on the Christmas gifts they planned to give. They only emerged when Clint called up to remind them that it was time for church.

After a quick dinner and the evening Christmas Eve church service, they changed into pajamas and assembled in the living room with mugs of hot chocolate. The fireplace blazing as the six of them gathered around, Natasha holding Nathaniel in her lap with Laura sitting next to her on the couch. Lila and Cooper were sprawled on their bellies under the Christmas tree and everyone listened as Clint read "The Night Before Christmas" aloud. Nathaniel was half asleep with his head drooping onto Natasha's arm when Clint closed the book with a definitive 'snap.'

"Okay, off to bed," He said. "Santa can't come if you're still wide awake!" Cooper and Lila stretched and stood up, downing the rest of their cocoa. Laura rose, pickig up Nathaniel to put him to bed, but the toddler blinked his eyes sleepily and reached back for Natasha. Laura and Clint exchanged a quick knowing smile at the look of hesitant skepticism on Nat's face at the toddler's preference.

"Looks like someone wants Auntie Nat to tuck him in," Laura said, kissing her youngest son goodnight and handing the toddler over to Natasha. She held the little boy snugly on her hip. He looked at her with his clear blue eyes through half-closed lids before resting his head on her collarbone. A warmth spread through her at the thought of Nathaniel, who'd been so wary of her when she'd arrived the previous week, showing her so much favor now.

Clint stood and kissed the top of Nathaniel's head, giving Natasha a trusting smile before turning back to the other kids. Natasha turned and as she carried Nathaniel up the stairs, she could hear Laura saying "Let's put out the milk and cookies."

Nathaniel's room was painted a pale blue-gray and decorated with sea animals, but she could still remember when it had been Cooper's room. About a year before, Nathaniel had graduated from sleeping in Clint and Laura's bedroom, so they had agreed to let Cooper move into the guest room on the third floor and moved Nathaniel into the bedroom next to Lila's. Lila had also lobbied hard for "the upstairs bedroom" and didn't speak to her parents or Cooper for almost a week out of anger and envy, but ultimately didn't mind not having to climb the additional flight of stairs.

Natasha pushed open the door and crossed to the crib, ensuring the side rail was secure. She gently laid the child down in the crib and he gazed up at her, looking more awake than he had just a moment before.

"_Spokoynoy nochi, Zoloty," _she told him. "Good night, little one." Her hand caressed his head comfortingly.

"Na!" He said brightly, sitting up the moment her touch left him.

"It's time for bed now," she said, crossing the room and switching the light off. Natasha leaned over the crib rail, the dim glow of the night light reflected in his wide-open eyes. She rested her hand back on his head and began to soothe in a low, sing-song voice, "Shhhh, shhhh, _bayushki bayu, bayushki bayu."_

During the time Natasha had known the Bartons, she had heard Clint and Laura sing a handful of favorite lullabies to the kids. She'd learned a few, but the older two kids always requested the Russian lullaby — the one she'd first used to calm Lila years ago— whenever they'd asked her to sing to them. She wondered whether if they found the unfamiliar language soothing.

"_Sleep, my joy, sleep; the lights went out in the house; the birds quieted in the garden, and fish fell asleep in the pond_, t_he moon shines in the sky, the moon peeks into the window—_"

Nathaniel curled onto his side, still looking quietly up at her. She continued to run her fingers through his golden curls. She heard the creak of floorboards as someone crept past the door but continued to croon softly in Russian.

"—_now close your eyes and sleep, my joy, sleep. Sweetly, my little bird flies where there is no anxiety or trouble; now close your eyes and sleep, Zoloty, sleep_."

Nathaniel's eyes were closed now. She sang the song twice more before removing her hand from his head, then again more slowly before switching on the baby monitor and inching quietly out of the room, pulling the door closed quietly behind her. She turned from the door to see Cooper and Lila sitting against the wall on the other side of the narrow hallway, looking up at her. They had halfheartedly contrite expressions on their faces but had clearly been sitting there, listening intently.

She raised an eyebrow at them. Lila caved at once.

"We like it when you sing in Russian," she said softly. Cooper stood up quickly and Lila followed.

"No," he said, "I just wanted to make sure Lila didn't get into trouble. I'm too old for lullabies."

"Mmm hmm," she voiced doubtfully. Cooper looked into his aunt's face and could tell that she knew he was lying, and that she understood what he wasn't saying. Natasha's lips quirked up into a small sympathetic half-smile and turned to head back down the stairs.

Clint and Laura must have been holed up in the basement finishing final bits of gift assembly because the kitchen was deserted when she entered. The house was quiet save for the faint shuffling of footsteps upstairs, and the only light in the living room and front hallway came from the soft glow of the Christmas tree and the embers of the dying fire. Natasha filled the kettle and set it on the stovetop for a cup of tea, scrolling through her smartphone for news updates before the kettle gave a soft, high-pitched warble. She slipped out of the kitchen once her tea was steeped, thinking of the serenity of the front porch. She stopped at the sound of a muffled giggle as she passed the Christmas tree.

It did not take long to spot the source of the noise: both Lila and Cooper were lying under the tree on either side of the trunk. Their faces were obscured by the lower tree and their bodies stuck out toward her. She set her tea on a nearby table and crept toward them, crouching at the edge of the tree skirt to get a better look.

"What are you guys doing?" The kids both startled and craned their necks to look over at her. Lila grinned, but Cooper shrugged with an almost defensive look on his face. His casted arm rested over his stomach.

"It's our tradition," Cooper whispered, as though he didn't want to disturb the air around them. "Every year we sneak down here after Mom and Dad are gone to look at the lights."

"Cooper started it when he was little. It's really cool, come see." Lila said, and she gestured for Natasha to join them.

The idea didn't appeal to her on its face, but she wondered what it was that Cooper and Lila found so enthralling. She went around to the other side of the tree and lay in the spot Cooper had indicated. Natasha fit herself with her knees bent in the cramped space between the wall and the tree, head resting on the quilted tree skirt and nearly touching the trunk. The light but earthy scent of pine enveloped her. Cooper's and Lila's faces glowed on either side of her own, illuminated in the soft light of the tree.

"Look," Cooper said softly, pointing upward with his right hand. She gave him a skeptical look but followed his direction.

The perspective was strangely breathtaking and almost at once she understood why the kids enjoyed this so much. She gazed up through the layers of branches glittering with sparkly ornaments and twinkling lights. The lights did not just illuminate the tree itself but reflected and refracted, bouncing off of the ornaments, playing off of the colors and resulting in a slightly different effect on each. Light danced through the transparent ornaments and scattered into tiny rainbows, glimmered over the metallic ornaments and glowed around the gossamer ones. Rays of intermingled bright and muted colors kaleidoscoped between the branches, and staring up from where she lay it was possible to forget that the rest of the world existed.

The effect was wholly mesmerizing,

"Cool, right?" Lila said, grinning at her.

"Very," Natasha agreed, unable to keep a small smile off of her lips.

"Yeah. It sounds kind of dumb until you see it," said Cooper.

"I love Christmastime," Lila sighed. Cooper murmured in agreement. They lay there a little longer in silence.

"Do you really have to go back tomorrow?" Cooper asked her.

"Yes."

"Lame, why?"

"_Bratik_, I'm a wanted fugitive," she reminded him gently. "If I stick around and get caught hanging out with your dad, he could get into a lot of trouble."

"That blows," he said. Lila giggled. Natasha looked over at him with both eyebrows raised.

"Language check, young man." He looked a little abashed but pressed on.

"I'm not wrong."

"You're not," she agreed. "Your dad, Steve, Sam and I are all in a rough spot right now, but things will calm down eventually."

"But what if they don't? What if the government people are mad at you forever?" Lila wondered. Natasha turned her head to see the little girl's dark eyes glittering with worry.

"Then I guess I'll have to find more sneaky ways to hang out with you guys," she smiled conspiratorially.

"You're not going to stop visiting?"

"As if anyone could stop me from coming back," Natasha reassured her, eyebrows raised as if in a challenge. She looked between the two kids. "I love you guys, don't you know that by now?" Cooper and Lila grinned back at her.

"We love you, too," Cooper said.

"_I _love you _three_!" Lila exclaimed.

"Well, _I_ love you _forty_."

"Five hundred!"

"Six thousand!"

At seventy thousand, both of the kids dissolved into giggles and stopped trying to best each other.

Natasha smiled and lay there on the floor with Cooper and Lila for several more minutes, staring up into the Christmas tree where the glimmering lights reflected off the surfaces of dozens of colorful ornaments.

She felt a profound sense of peace that she could not explain envelope her more completely than she imagined was possible. It was indescribable and so complete that it seemed to settle into every crevice of her soul.

Years later, she would still recall the details of that Christmas with startling clarity. How Lila and Cooper had managed to sneak into her room and woke her by jumping on the bed and shouting gleefully at 6 o'clock on Christmas morning. The pure joy In the children's faces as they opened their presents, that same joy reflected in Clint's and Laura's expressions as they reveled in their kids happiness. The excitement that overcame the two older kids when they unwrapped her gift to them, a satellite phone that would reach her anywhere in the world. Nathaniel ignoring his Christmas gifts completely in favor of diving happily into the colorful pile of discarded paper. The expression of utter calm and contentment returning to Clint's eyes for the first time in months.

She would think of Steve and Sam joining the Bartons for Christmas dinner, causing the very starstruck older kids to lose their minds clamoring for autographs and pictures. Laura's glow of pride at the compliments that the beautiful Christmas dinner had earned. The raucous laughter when Nathaniel flung a clump of mashed potato at the side of Clint's head and Laura had to retrieve a curette out of her first aid box to dig the food out of his ear, earning the nickname "Mr. Potato Head" from Cooper and Lila. She remembered eating pumpkin pie, drinking coffee, and watching "A Christmas Story" while Lila tried hard to stay awake and Cooper carefully sorted pieces to build a new Lego set.

Natasha remembered the good-byes at the end of the evening, hugging and kissing the foreheads of each child before embracing Clint and Laura tightly with whispered pleas to stay safe and come back soon. Nathaniel had clung to her leg and refused to let go until she had bent low, caressed his temple, and murmured something in Russian that only Cooper seemed to understand, because it was the older boy who stepped forward and coaxed his little brother away.

She remembered Laura embracing Steve and whispering, just a little too loudly, "Please look out for each other."

She recalled glancing back at the house, glowing with lights and warmth and the Bartons' faces silhouetted in the windows, and already looking forward to the next visit.

But what stood out the strongest in her memory about that Christmas was the inexplicable serenity and immeasurable solace that she felt during those precious minutes she'd spent with Lila and Cooper staring up into the branches of the tree, their faces aglow and eyes sparkling with reflected light.

That would always be one of her favorite memories.

.

* * *

.

This brings the "6th time" to a close.

Again, I really and truly appreciate your follows, reviews, and messages.

Have a lovely week :)

xo


	13. Chapter 13

Happy Wednesday!

The 7th and final time is below. Really it's two visits, but I didn't think you all would mind. I ended up deviating from the usual story structure as well.

SPOILERS: there are spoilers for Endgame in this chapter as well as in the footnotes, although let's be real, if you're enough of a fan to be on this site, you've seen it already.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own or financially benefit from anything in the MCU.

On with the penultimate installment.

.

* * *

Summer 2018

* * *

.

The apocalypse had come in a low rumble of thunder on a clear day, a single rumble of thunder before half the world dissolved into dust.

After Thanos snapped his fingers, it was several minutes before she understood what had happened. It would days before the suffocating gravity of the situation would fully dawn, each new spate of missing person's reports submerging them deeper into the nightmarish reality that the titan had thrust them into.

All she could do in the immediate aftermath was stand there, clutching at her stomach and looking on in horror as Steve knelt beside Vision's body, now a grotesque and unnatural shade of gray, and try to make sense of what she was seeing.

As they emerged from the trees, Wakanda had already begun to crumble into chaos. A cacophony of human voices echoed from the city and the battlefield as people screamed for those who'd gone missing and wailed with sorrow for those who had been killed in the fight. The sense of dread that had taken root in her grew stronger with each report of someone disintegrating before the eyes of a friend or loved one.

They'd thought, briefly, stupidly maybe, that the snap had only affected Wakanda, but reports of disappearances began pouring in from across the globe by the hundreds.

Natasha's phone had not rung since arriving in Wakanda. The device was nestled securely in an inner pocket of her tactical suit, remaining still and silent. She dared to hope for one wild second that none of the Bartons had been affected. The thought of Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel being left suddenly alone and confused that sent an icy, paralyzing chill through her spine and drove her to dig into the inside pocket of her tactical suit for the phone. It was dead, the screen dark and unresponsive.

Panic bubbled through her without warning and she struggled to push it aside. Natasha turned on her heel and sprinted off at full tilt, tamping down the rising sense of dread in her chest. The others called after her but she paid them no heed, winding through the palace and up staircases until finally the quinjet was in sight. The five seconds it took to unlock the hatch with her handprint and voice were agonizing. When it finally opened, she forced herself through the crack in the opening cargo hatch, scrambling toward her locker and wrenching the door open.

A satellite phone sat in its charging station in a back corner of the locker. She retrieved it in one swift motion and forced her eyes to focus on the screen.

No missed calls.

Natasha swiftly dialed the number for the phone's twin, which she could picture sitting in its charger on a corner of Cooper's desk. She had given the satellite phone to Cooper and Lila almost a year and a half ago at Christmas with the promise that they would always be able to reach her no matter where she was.

That had been the Christmas when Clint and Laura asked her to become the children's guardian if anything happened to them.

The phone rang once, twice, half a dozen times. No response. She barely registered the dull thudding of another person climbing on board the jet.

"Nat?"

Steve was standing several feet away having just caught up with her. He wore an expression of concern. Natasha's eyes took several seconds to focus on Steve. She blinked at him, phone still to her ear.

"Nobody's picking up," she said evenly, but even as the words left her she could feel tears threatening to come. "Nothing. What if—" she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. Steve's somber expression became even more grim. He was the only person outside of the Barton family who knew about the guardianship papers. He knew the importance of the satellite phone in a way none of the others did. Both looked up at the rapid thudding of a third person climbing aboard the quinjet.

"What's going on?" Bruce asked, panting and clutching a stitch in his side. His eyes darted back and forth between his friends, attempting to discern the root of Natasha's distress. The expression on his face was one of heartfelt concern, but she paid him no attention.

"The kids," she said, directing her comment to Steve with urgency in her voice. "I have to—"

"Go," Steve said, both as an end to her sentence and an affirmation. "I'll come with you."

"No," she replied, "They need you here." Steve narrowed his eyes at her but quickly realized that she was right.

"Keep us updated."

Natasha nodded to them and without hesitation she climbed into the cockpit and lifted the craft into the air almost as soon as Steve and Bruce stepped off of the quinjet.

She sank into the pilot's seat and hurriedly dialed Clint's number, then Laura's, then the main land line.

Silence.

Her fingers began to tremble as she dialed the numbers again, one by one in turn, and still there was no response.

Every agonizing minute of that flight stretched into its own eternity. She recharged and rebooted her cell phone in case there was a missed call there. Nothing. A tortured hour passed before finally, finally, her satellite phone rang.

Natasha picked it up during the first ring and her breath caught in her throat.

"Nat?"

An immense flood of relief swept through her at hearing her best friend's voice.

"Oh, Clint, thank god," she exhaled with relief, closing her eyes momentarily before refocusing on the controls. She briefly considered turning the plane around.

"Nat, what the hell is happening?" His voice shook with wild desperation. "Where are they?" Her heart plummeted like a stone and summoned all of her wherewithal just to keep the tremor out of her own voice. She swallowed hard and found that she couldn't bring herself to ask the question.

She knew his answer might shatter her.

"I'll there in a couple hours," she told him. "Hang on."

The calm skies were easy to navigate with very few other aircraft on her radar and she pushed the throttle to the max, breathing a prayer to a god she didn't really believe in. She had never been so relieved to see the familiar landmarks surrounding the farm as they began to materialize around her.

Natasha landed the quinjet quickly in the open field behind the house. The engine was still powering down with a whine when she darted outside and into the blaring light of late afternoon. She was squinting so hard against the harsh sunlight as she ran that she almost tripped over the baseball and two gloves laying strewn on the grass. She stopped, unnerved by the scene in front of her.

The picnic table nearby was set for a meal that had gone untouched. An insulated cooler lay closed next to an unopened bag of hot dog buns and a small stack of blue plastic plates. Two water bottles sat nearby; she recognized the red one as Cooper's by the NASA sticker plastered on the side and thought the smaller blue one must belong to Nathaniel.

Leaning closer to inspect the items, something else caught her eye.

Dust.

Flakes of it everywhere, scattered over the table and clinging to everything on it.

An immediate and powerful wave of nausea swept through Natasha and she tasted bile at the back of her throat. She yanked the neck of her shirt over her nose and mouth and hastily stepped backward, horrified at the thought of who she might be stepping on or breathing in.

She stuffed down the rising feeling of dread, trying to keep her head as clear as possible. Her feet seemed to move without guidance and soon she was sprinting toward the house.

"Clint?" she called out, "Laura?"

Her cry for the kids died on her lips as she passed the barn and saw her best friend emerging from it. Her relief of seeing him standing there, alive and whole, was tangible and she hurried toward him. He jogged out to meet her and as they neared each other, Natasha could see that Clint's eyes were wild with panic and confusion. She glanced around.

The air was crushed out of her lungs when she realized that he was completely alone.

No.

The gravel crunched under her feet as she approached him cautiously. He was clutching the other satellite phone in his hand.

"What the hell is happening, Nat?" he nearly shouted, the frenzy evident in his tone. "They were all right here, then I looked away for one second and they were gone—" his voice broke off. Clint pressed his lips together into a thin line and looked off into the distance, toward the field where the quinjet was parked. "Just…gone."

Natasha swallowed back a sob but could not stop her eyes from filling with silent, unshed tears as she stood in front of her best friend and tried to find the words to explain something that she herself was only just beginning to understand. She was unable to grapple with the devastating thought that Laura and the kids had all been dissolved into dust. She needed to ground herself.

Clint looked back at her and for the first time noticed that Natasha was still in her tactical suit. He searched her face, his eyes digging into hers for answers. She swallowed and kept her gaze even, not allowing the tears to fall from her eyes. He read the pain in them anyway. He knew her too well not to.

"What the hell is happening?" He asked again. His voice was lower and more controlled this time.

"We lost," she said, because it was the simplest explanation even though the words ripped at her chest as she said them.

Clint looked at her as though this answer told him nothing. Natasha gave him all the information she had, explained Thanos, the Stones, and the titan's plans for universal decimation as well as she could. She told him that Bruce and Thor were back but that Tony was now missing, and she told him about Wakanda and the battle that had taken place there in the name of protecting Vision's stone. That despite their fiercest efforts, Thanos had won.

He had plucked the stone from Vision's head, snapped his fingers, opened a portal and walked away leaving nothing but dust and destruction in his wake.

It seemed that Thanos had wiped out half of all life in the galaxy.

Clint was quiet for so long after she'd stopped talking that Natasha was not sure whether he'd heard anything at all. They sat on the back steps for a long time with the silence broken only by the gentle sigh of the breeze.

"Who's left?" he croaked, looking at Natasha with a mixture of desolation and disbelief on his face.

"Steve, Bruce, Thor, Rhodey," she listed evenly, meeting his eyes. "Us."

The unspoken names lay heavily between them. Wanda. Bucky. T'Challa.

"Fury? Hill?" he asked. Natasha shook her head. Clint looked stricken.

"We can't reach them."

"Scott?"

"Not sure."

"Jesus," he breathed, turning away and staring out over the horizon.

The sun was sinking low in the sky as the silence hung between them. Natasha looked at her best friend's face reflecting the dying sunlight, the shadows casting the lines on his stony face into sharper relief. He had been her single most reliable constant for so many years now, and with all of the turbulence and trauma they'd been through together she couldn't help being a little grateful that he was still here.

The thought had barely crossed her mind before a heavy wave of guilt and revulsion swooped through her, sending her stomach plummeting . Neither of them deserved to be here more than Laura or any of the kids. Neither deserved to be spared more than any of the other truly good people who had been indifferently snapped out of existence. Laura, the warmest and most understanding person she'd ever known, who loved and fiercely defended her family with all of her heart. Cooper, so much more perceptive and inquisitive than anyone realized, who was becoming a strong but subtle leader. Lila, whom Natasha had watched grow from a bright-eyed infant into a clever young lady with a fiery spirit who aspired to perfection in everything she did. Little Nathaniel, her namesake, whose goofy and ebullient personality was exploding and who couldn't wait for the pirate-themed party to celebrate his 4th birthday in two weeks' time.

They were her family. The grief of their disappearance was crushing, but she could not even begin to imagine the extent of Clint's sorrow.

This time, when the tears rose to Natasha's eyes, she did not try to stop them from coursing silently over her cheeks and dropping into her lap and she made no move to wipe them away. Residual droplets clung relentlessly to her eyelashes, scattering the golden sunlight into tiny prisms and obscuring what remained of her already blurred vision.

"We have to get them back," he said.

Natasha couldn't think of anything to say. She wanted that more than anything, but Thanos had just obliterated the strongest defenders Earth had. The sense of defeat was so suffocating that any spark of hope in her mind would be smothered.

She slid her arm around Clint's waist and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder, lightly at first so he could reject the contact. He didn't.

The gentle comfort of her touch, her presence, caused a dam to burst inside him. Waves of suffocating anguish and despair crashed over him, driving the air from his lungs. His eyes were open but unseeing, blinded by pain. A strange high-pitched ringing in his ears blocked out the noise of the world and he felt a deep howl tear from his chest but could not hear the sound.

The surge of grief began to ebb as dusk was falling over the farm. Clint's world blinked slowly back into focus. Natasha was still at his side, and he became aware that his right hand was now gripping her left. He exhaled heavily and sniffed as he dragged his sleeve across his cheeks. She looked up at him, searching, watching the fog clear from his blue eyes.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and moved to pull away, but he held fast.

"Please." His voice came out in a whisper wavering with vulnerability. Natasha turned her head to look into his tormented face.

She knew she had to go back to New York, to find the others and get back into the fight. There was so much work that needed to be done. Natasha had always coped with catastrophe this way, and as long as there was even a sliver of hope that remained she had to try. She needed was to keep fighting. To hunt down Thanos and reverse the horrific deed he had carried out.

To bring everyone back. To bring her family back.

She could not accept that this overwhelming loss of life was irrevocable. This grief was like nothing she had ever known, burning through her with an ache so cavernous she wasn't sure it could possibly be human.

Natasha had to get back to the fight, but when she looked back up at Clint, his pain palpable, a pleading in his voice that conveyed a desperation she had never heard there before, tears began to rise again in her own eyes and she found that she couldn't refuse.

"Okay."

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* * *

.

Neither had meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion briefly overtook them anyway.

It was still dark when Natasha woke. She blinked rapidly, acutely aware of her surroundings. The dim yellow light filtering into the front windows from the porch faintly illuminated the living room floor where she and Clint lay. They had fallen asleep together, spines pressed together, both lying on their sides facing opposite directions atop the thick rug. She could feel the slow, subtle movement of his breath through her back as she lay there in stillness with her knees curled toward her chest.

It had been a very long time since they had slept like this, not since Strike Team Delta. In those early years, they had devised this method as a practical and efficient way to remain vigilant and watch each other's backs even while resting. As their partnership and friendship grew, sleeping this way became both habit and a source of comfort during particularly dangerous missions.

Both had welcomed the small security of the gesture after events of the previous day.

It took Natasha a moment to recognize that her phone had woken her with a muffled staccato buzzing against her chest. She withdrew it from her suit and saw that she had a voicemail from Steve. Carefully, so as not to disturb Clint, she brought the phone to her ear to listen. They were regrouping, he said, planning to stay in Wakanda for another day or so to help in the aftermath of the battle there before heading back to the Avengers facility in upstate New York.

"_Let me know if you__'re__— whether you__'__re meeting us in New York. Need to know if we should borrow a plane.__" _There was a long pause in the recording. _"__And if you__'__re all okay.__"_

_If you__'__re all okay._

Clint stirred awake beside her and she sat up, turning to face him. He bolted upright and for a solitary moment he simply looked confused about why they were both sleeping on the floor of his living room wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes.

Natasha felt a fresh ache in her chest as she watched his face crumble with the dawning recollection of the previous day. This time when she reached out to rest a hand on his forearm, he shrugged away her touch. She swallowed hard.

"Sorry to wake you."

"'S okay," he murmured. "Your breathing changed. Thought—" his voice broke off and he cleared his throat. "Thought something had happened." Several seconds of silence passed between them.

"I'll make coffee," more to give herself something to do than anything else. She stood and stretched, slipping her phone into its pocket before crossing into the dark kitchen.

Everything was exactly as it had been, so familiar, she was able to start the coffeepot by the dim fluorescent glow of the stove's clock. Through the window above the sink, she could see the muted gray tones on the horizon that hinted dawn was approaching.

Clint rose slowly to his feet and almost immediately hastened out to the front porch, scrubbing at his eyes with his hands, the screen door closing softly behind him. It was as though he couldn't stand being in the house. She couldn't blame him.

Natasha slid soundlessly onto the bench of the porch swing beside him minutes later with two steaming mugs in her hands. Clint took one of the mugs from her but couldn't bring himself to drink, instead pressing his palms into the hot ceramic until they began to burn. Natasha clutched her own cup and watched him carefully, their faces and surroundings slowly illuminating by the gradually brightening sky.

It could almost pass for any of her other visits, the two of them sitting together like this, drinking coffee and watching the sunrise. She could almost imagine that in a few minutes, they would change into sneakers for a long run before returning to the house, where Laura would be sitting with her crossword while Nathaniel played with his wooden trains. Cooper and Lila, who now relished sleeping in, would emerge tousle-haired later in the morning and find something to bicker about before even making it down the stairs.

Laura, Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel were gone now.

The weight of their disappearance struck her again so acutely that the breath was knocked from her lungs and she steeled herself against the tears she felt threatening to well again in her eyes. Tears would not bring them back.

She had to get back into the fight.

"I have to go." Natasha's voice was low but resolute when she spoke. Clint continued to look out over the horizon unblinking. The sharp bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed was the only indication that he had heard her.

"Yeah."

"Come with me," she said, imploring. "Everyone's regrouping in New York. Thanos is still out there with the stones. We'll find a way—"

"I can't," he said. There was a strange finality in his tone and it was so unlike Clint that Natasha stared at him for a moment. Clint watched his friend's eyes grow bright with dissent, and something tiny and insignificant registered at the back of his mind that he had never seen her eyes this shade before. He shook his head.

There were so many small reasons why he couldn't go, especially now, but as he counted each off in his mind they seemed trivial. He needed to stay in case his family rematerialized, in case looters tried to burglarize his home. His ankle monitoring device was set to come off later in the week.

This place was the closest that he could get to his family, and the pull he felt to stay was profound and inexplicable.

Natasha knew it would be pointless to argue.

By the time she stood at the cargo ramp of the quinjet, the burden of sorrow that had settled in the pit of her stomach had grown ever more weighty. Clint stood in front of her, misery and grief etched into the lines of his face, blue eyes dull with defeat. He swallowed hard. Natasha threw her arms around her best friend and hugged him tightly.

She didn't want to part ways, not like this. It felt wrong, risky, almost dangerous to leave Clint behind without backup, but the incontrovertible truth of the situation was that she couldn't stay, and he couldn't leave, and neither could not see a way around that.

"We're gonna get them back, Clint," she murmured into his neck so that he felt her words more than heard them. He sniffled and pulled back to see that she was looking at him hard. Her green eyes were dark with tenacity.

Clint wanted to say something, to thank her, to encourage her, to tell her to be careful because he didn't think he could stand losing her, too; to let her know that if she really needed him back in the fight he would be there.

No words came.

Instead, he nodded heavily and reached out his hand. Natasha took it in both of hers and held fast. He tilted his head forward to rest his forehead against hers and they stood like that for several seconds.

All too soon, she pulled away. Cool air rushed in to fill the void where she'd stood and he was left standing alone.

The last thing Clint saw before the cargo ramp closed was the look of sheer determination and grit on his best friend's face.

.

* * *

.

The following day, Fury's pager was found amid the chaos and debris in New York City.

Two days after that, Carol Danvers materialized unexpectedly at the Avengers facility. She left the next morning and when she returned just over two weeks later, she was towing a spacecraft and, along with it, a very weak and unstable—but alive—Tony Stark.

It wasn't long before Thanos gave himself away by using the stones again and those who remained formulated a plan. Thanos wouldn't return to Earth. He had completed his objective there. They would have to go to him.

When Natasha called Clint the morning of the mission, he didn't answer. She wasn't surprised. He hadn't answered her calls for nearly a week, instead allowing them to go to voicemail and responding with brief text messages. This time differed only in the speed of his response.

_Good luck. Stay safe._

The ease with which they were able to subdue Thanos filled her with a sense of foreboding. When she saw that the stones were no longer in the gauntlet, horror shot through her so completely that, for a fraction of a second, she was paralyzed.

"Where are the stones?" She lost her composure, voice tremulous and tears welling in her eyes.

The stones had been destroyed, and with them, any hope of bringing back the trillions of people who'd been lost to them.

Not long after, Thanos, too, lay dead.

.

* * *

.

This time, Clint picked up the phone when she called.

"Nat?"

She had to pause, swallowing back a lump in her throat. That pause was all it took. She could feel him beginning to splinter apart even as she forced the words out, speaking as evenly as she could muster.

The flicker of hope they had both harbored was snuffed out.

Something inside of Clint shattered irrevocably. His grief was beyond tears. For a long time, all that Natasha could hear was the occasional catch in his ragged, gasping breaths.

"Stay there," she told him. "I'll be there soon."

Steve and Bruce came with her. She had wanted to go alone, but they insisted. Both needed something else to focus on just as she did, and with the enormous loss gaping like a fresh wound inside of her chest she couldn't muster the energy to dissuade them.

Natasha knew the house would be empty before they even landed, but she made her way up the front steps anyway. The door was locked. It was never locked. Her fingers found the narrow hollow at the side of the nearby window shutter and felt the cool metal of the spare key. She withdrew it and deftly unlocked the door.

The door swung open and she stepped inside. She called out for Clint but was met only with silence. This place, her second home, was so achingly familiar in its details yet the feeling of desolation was foreign and distressing. She moved silently from room to room, opening every door and checking every corner. She tasked Steve with searching the barn and Bruce, the basement.

Just in case.

The house sat hauntingly silent and empty, every inch of it, from Cooper's third floor bedroom to the corners of the basement.

The satellite phone rested silently on the kitchen table, forsaken.

He was gone. Not only that, but he did not want to be found.

A sense of profound emptiness overtook her, numbing her so thoroughly that for a long time, she could feel nothing, sense nothing.

She didn't hear Steve open the door or knock softly on the doorframe. He found her sitting on the sofa, eyes open but hollow and unseeing. He spoke her name in a quiet voice, but she did not seem to come back to herself until he rested a hand on her shoulder.

"We're going to wait on the quinjet," he said sadly. "Take your time." She nodded, face hardening as she blinked her vision into sharper focus.

"I'll just be a minute."

Natasha stood and stepped back into the foyer, looking around at the house, the first place that she had ever truly been able to call "home."

Madame B had always told her she had no place in the world. The Bartons had showed Natasha that she did belong somewhere, that her place in the world was the bedroom down the hall.

That feeling was a memory now, but she held fast to it.

"_Is this love, Agent Romanoff?__"_ Loki had asked her once.

It was.

Natasha had never been sentimental so she was unable to explain what drew her into that bedroom one last time before leaving the Bartons' farm.

When she stepped back onto the quinjet, Steve and Bruce curiously eyed the blue-and-white stellate patchwork quilt folded neatly under her arm. Neither asked questions. She could not explain, even to herself, why she had been so compelled to hold onto it.

It still smelled faintly of lavender.

If there was even a sliver of a chance to bring back her team, her family, she would find it.

Whatever it took.

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* * *

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Fin.

You have probably noticed that unlike the other chapters, this one is not split into two parts. The next and final installment will follow the events of Endgame.

There's also a little bit of line-blurring with the kids' ages that occurred in the movies with the timeline. Like in AoU, Lila is probably 6, maybe 7, but in Endgame, the kid is at least 11, probably closer to 13 - which is touch to reconcile in a 3-year span. Along the same lines, the kid playing Nathaniel is at least 4 (probably 5) in Endgame. The discrepancies made writing the story a little challenging, but you just have to roll with it I guess.

One of my anonymous reviewers noted a "definite change in tone" with the previous chapter. This is, as you now know, partly because it was the last one I would write with all of them together.

I truly appreciate all of your reviews, favorites, and follows. The support and feedback has made this fic so much more rewarding to write than I had initially expected. If you have feedback on this chapter, please express it! It's the last chance for me to actually use the feedback before the last installment is completed. Again, I really do appreciate it.

Thanks!

Until next time :)


	14. Chapter 14

The first part of the final installment, when Natasha does not visit the farm, is below. Spoilers for Endgame are present.

I had intended to do this part all as one chapter, but realized halfway through this installment that it wouldn't work without either making the chapter far too long or, worse, failing to do it justice. The latter may happen regardless, but you can be the judge of that.

Disclaimer: I don't own or benefit from Marvel or its characters in any way.

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* * *

Summer 2023 — Part I

* * *

.

The glare of late afternoon sunlight was almost blinding as it reflected through the windshield of the quinjet. Clint blinked it furiously out of his eyes and when his vision cleared, he saw the farm fast approaching beneath him.

His family's farm.

He was home.

It had been five years, but from the air it seemed mostly the same. The grass was overgrown and a handful of shingles were missing from the roof, but otherwise it did not seem any worse for wear. Seeing it all was so surreal, so unbelievable, that it felt like looking through a pair of Tony's virtual reality goggles. Clint had expected to feel out of his mind with happiness in this moment, about to see his family and his home again, but this reality was so fantastical that he was almost numb with incredulity.

Clint set down the plane in the middle of the field between the treeline and the barn. The landing was a little harder than he had intended, as though the tremendous compounding weight of the day, of the past five years, was manifesting as a physical burden. He reminded himself that, more than likely, he was just out of practice.

He powered down the control panel, stretched, and started toward the cargo ramp with anticipation beginning to build inside him. He glanced at the row of neat lockers as he walked the length of the plane and his eyes lingered briefly, unintentionally, on the one that had been hers. He swallowed hard. If somehow this wasn't real, if his family's reappearance had simply been some twisted hallucination, if the sacrifice had been for nothing, it would break him.

Clint walked past without stopping. He stepped off of the cargo ramp and the familiar scent of summertime on the farm engulfed him. His boots crunched softly over the parched grass as he made his way toward the house, still squinting in the bright sunlight.

"Dad! Dad!"

Clint's heart stopped at the sound of Lila's voice, the music of it stretching across the field between them. A grin spread across his face and his heart felt impossibly light. She was there, long brown hair flying behind her, wide grin on her face as she dashed into his arms. He pulled her close and the joy and wonder of it all knocked the air briefly from his lungs. Clint held her close, so incredibly tightly, and buried his face in her hair as he kissed the top of her head. Her hair tickled his nose and tears sprung to his eyes at her familiar scent.

And suddenly Cooper was there, too, hurtling into his father's arms with a shout. Clint's knees threatened to buckle with emotion as he kissed his son's head. He pulled them closer still, impossibly close, but even though so little space remained between them it didn't feel close enough. There was barely time to marvel at the feeling of holding his children for the first time in five long years before Nathaniel reached them last, going as fast as his little legs could carry him. Clint released the older kids and sank to one knee to hug his youngest child, relishing the feel of the little boy's arms wrapped around his neck.

"Dad, I can't breathe," Nate wriggled in his embrace. Clint gazed at the three of them, his children, standing in front of him so full of life and indisputably _real_.

They were exactly as he had remembered, right down to Cooper's floppy hair, Lila's braces, and Nate's freckles. All of those tiny details seemed almost miraculous in their simplicity now.

When he saw Laura walking toward him, looking so incredibly alive and whole, his joy went beyond words. The smile on her face stole his breath away—God, he'd thought years ago that he would never see her smile again. They approached one another, both grinning, and she reached out to take his face in her hands. Her thumb caressed his cheek in a familiar and comforting gesture as she searched his face, reading his expression carefully. He grasped her shoulders, because this reality was so incredible and mind-boggling that he needed to ground himself. Her warm brown eyes were full of love, but Clint could see shock and disquiet and trepidation there, too.

"You okay?" Laura asked quietly. He nodded, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse with emotion.

"Yeah. You all okay?" She nodded and he slid his hands to cup her head, pulling her into a kiss that filled him with solace and impossible bliss. When they pulled apart, a fine thread of guilt began to tug behind his navel, an unwelcome reminder that this moment had come at a cost.

The four of them were all so confused and had endless questions, trying to wrap their minds around the impossibility of the situation that was being realized across the universe now. They hadn't felt the loss of time at all, none of the disappeared had, so they would never know the depths of suffering endured by the ones who had been left behind. They couldn't possibly understand the full gravity of what it had been like for Clint to live without them for five long years.

Laura and the kids had been disoriented at first because to them, it had all felt like simply disappearing from a picnic lunch and rematerializing moments later in front of a house that looked like it had been long abandoned. She had shouted for Clint, and when he didn't respond she called him immediately. He picked up his phone only briefly before an apocalyptic clamor exploded on the other end and the line went dead. Unable to reach her father, Lila found their old satellite phone on the kitchen table under a thick layer of dust, plugged it in, and tried to reach Natasha. That, too, was met with silence.

They pieced together what they could from the updates on the emergency radio before Laura and Cooper were able to hook up the emergency generator. When the TV news station came to life in the living room, all four of them watched transfixed. News reports were flowing in from across the country of the reappearances of those who'd been lost, showing up in homes that had long since passed to new owners and in front of family members whom they didn't recognize, of a massive unexplained cloud of dust ash darkening the skies over part of upstate New York. The four of them stared aghast with disbelief, struggling to process this unfathomable new reality.

"Now I get what Captain Rogers went through," Cooper said with a combination of misery and disbelief.

When Clint finally called an hour later, it was to tell them that a battle had been won and that he was coming home.

They did not know yet that someone they loved dearly had to die to allow their resurrection from the dust.

It was by some small miracle that the kids didn't ask after Natasha that night.

There was only one mention of her that evening, as everyone was sweeping and dusting and doing what they could to make the now derelict house livable again after five long years of neglect. Clint had thrown himself into the mundane tasks, grateful for the distraction. He was on the floor of the upstairs bathroom reworking a rusted pipe connection when he heard Lila call from down the hall.

God, he would never tire of hearing their voices.

"Hey Dad, should we clean Aunt Nat's room tonight?" He clenched his jaw against the fresh mournful ache building inside his chest.

"No, sweetheart, we'll get to it later." he called back, somehow managing to keep his words steady even though the thought of entering her room at all was gnawing at him painfully.

Laura ordered dinner from a very overwhelmed-sounding employee at the only remaining pizza place in town. The kids spent the time exclaiming over their own disappearances and marveling at how so much time could have possibly passed without them. Clint stumbled through a vague explanation when they asked about his mohawk and new tattoos. When the conversation began to edge toward the battle he'd fought earlier in the day, Laura coaxed the kids upstairs to their bedrooms for the evening.

Clint began to clear the plates and glasses from the table, his movements mechanical and stiff, trying to ease back into a routine that he'd thought was only a memory. He was so relieved, so incredibly jubilant to have his family back that for a few hours it had not been too difficult to force his grief to the back of his mind. Now, though, he slumped forward over the kitchen counter with his head in his hands and felt the overpowering exhaustion soaking deep into his marrow.

Had it really only been one single nightmarish, extraordinary, grueling and miraculous day?

It seemed that an eternity had passed since he sat in the kitchen that morning drinking coffee and exchanging quips with Nat, Rocket, Thor, and Bruce as if they weren't about to embark on the most complex and punishing mission of their lives. The _last_ mission of _her_ life.

She hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. Clint had no idea what or when she had last eaten. It was such a stupid and inconsequential detail, but the thought was so irrational and intrusive that he became frustrated with how much not knowing this one thing was eating at him. A lump rose into his throat and he clenched his fists.

A soft, cool hand slipped into his and Clint looked up at his wife, still the same as she had been that day five years before. He met her eyes. A concerned expression was etched into her face and her warm brown eyes shone with empathy. He had missed her eyes, her gaze, her touch for so long that this still didn't seem quite real.

"Come on, let's sit outside for a while," she said, coaxing him upright. He caught the faint aroma of her jasmine shampoo as they went and the familiar, achingly comforting scent brought moisture to his eyes. He blinked it back quickly.

They sat side-by-side on the porch swing at first, but the grating creak of the rusted chains prompted them to move to the front steps instead. The dim light emitted by the single remaining bulb on the porch cast shadows across their faces. Laura still clasped his hand in hers, looking at him in a way that made Clint suspect that she already knew what he had to tell her. She'd always been able to read him.

He took several deep breaths, voice catching in his throat, and he found that he had to muster every remaining shred of his energy just to wrench those two sickening words from his chest.

"Nat's dead," he choked out with a sob, no longer trying to contain his tears.

The words struck Laura like a thunderbolt and for a long moment she was paralyzed. She shook her head and her mouth fell open a fraction of an inch in disbelief and her hands tightened around her husband's. She started to protest, to say "No" and insist there had been a mistake, but looking into his face she knew his words had to be true. Tears streamed down Laura's face and her breath came in convulsive gasps as the full realization crashed over her.

Natasha was gone.

Her dearest friend, the closest thing she had to a sister, was never coming home.

She curled into Clint's side and leaned heavily into him, tears dropping into his shirt and hands still clutching his. He put an arm around her shoulders and held her tightly. Laura fought for breath against the crush of grief pressing in on her chest, but it was a long time before she could articulate the question dominating her thoughts.

"Did she suffer?" she asked in a wavering whisper, craning her neck to look up at him. Clint blinked hard to clear his vision and met her gaze. He swallowed hard.

_Let me go_, her voice echoed steadily in his mind. Natasha had to have known that he could never release her, so she had taken the choice away from him. At the memory, his left hand involuntarily grasped at the night air, closing briefly around the ghost of her wrist.

She had wrenched herself out of his grasp and he had torn his eyes away, unable to watch her fall. It must have only taken a few seconds. He hadn't heard her body shatter on the rocks below over the distance between them and his own cry of despair. By the time he looked down out of a primal need to make absolutely certain that this wasn't a horribly vivid nightmare, she was gone, lying twisted and broken on the ground with her blood spilled across the sacrificial altar of the Soul Stone.

"It was quick," he answered, because it was all he could truthfully say. Laura sniffled and nodded at him, and if she noticed the evasion in his answer she didn't show it.

"Was she— was she alone?" It was another question that Clint didn't know how to answer, and he hated himself for it.

He had been there with her at the end, holding onto Natasha with everything he had until she'd forced his hand and taken the final part of the journey without him. When she'd flung herself from his grasp, he had looked away. Had she felt abandoned by him then, at a time when she needed his presence more than ever? Had her green eyes been searching for reassurance or comfort in his, only to be denied? She _had_ been alone at the bottom of that chasm.

_It's okay,_ Natasha had told him, the peace and transcendent calm in her expression imploring him to accept the willingness of her choice.

He would never be able to look into those eyes again.

"I was there," he managed to say in a strangled voice that was not his own. Laura's tears began to subside.

"Good," she murmured, but far from easing his conscience, her words caused a fresh dam to burst inside of Clint. His breathing became ragged and irregular and he held fast to Laura as his head began to feel impossibly light. He tried desperately to level out and control his breathing, suddenly impelled to tell Laura something that felt critically important.

"It was her choice," he rasped. "She sacrificed herself to bring everyone back." _She fought with her life in order to save mine_, he thought, because one of them had to go over the edge of that cliff.

It should have been him

_Whatever it takes._

Without warning, a pressured stream of words poured out of him as he recounted what events he could to Laura. Reliving the events of the past couple of weeks, the past five years even, tore further at his already gaping wounds but spite of this he found he could not stop.

He told Laura about how Nat had continued to run what remained of the Avengers while he was swallowed by his own grief. How she'd found new allies and never stopped searching or training or hoping, and finally Scott had reemerged from the quantum realm.

He recounted how Tony had solved time travel. About how Nat, Steve, and Scott had gathered their teammates, old and new, and worked out a plan to get the stones back. How he and Natasha had volunteered to undertake the most dangerous part of the mission together. How they had stood side-by-side to face an impossible enemy as they had so many times before until, finally, the circumstances had forced them to face each other instead.

Laura was still sitting beside him, taking in his every word. Her tears briefly subsided until Clint's words brought him back to the mountaintop on Vormir. His voice faltered as he told Laura that she sacrificed herself because one of them had to make the everlasting exchange and the other had to lose something they loved, and how he had woken inexplicably in a pool of still water with the stone in his hand. At this, Laura was overcome with a fresh wave of sobs because she understood what the stone had meant and what it had cost even as he told the story. The little yellow gem was a tangible confirmation of Natasha's death, indisputably grounding Clint in the paralyzing reality that his best friend was gone.

He glossed over the details of everything that followed, assembling the stones into a gauntlet of Tony's design, Bruce snapping his fingers to bring everyone back, the subsequent appearance of Thanos from the portal and the battle for the future of the universe. When Clint told her about Tony, how snatching a victory from the hand of the titan had cost his own life, his voice came out hollow. He fell silent after that. Whatever impulse had forced him into speech stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Even so, there were so many things that went unsaid in his raw retelling. Clint couldn't find the will to tell his wife what he had become over the past five years or the fact he had forsaken even Natasha in his own anguish over losing his family. He wasn't sure he would ever find the words to explain why he had been so willing to make the sacrifice himself, even with the prospect of getting to hold Laura and the kids in his arms again. It had been so easy to choose Nat's life over of his own.

Laura's unsteady breathing mingled with his as they sat in the still night air with his words still hanging between them. She knew that Natasha was put into mortal danger more often than she would ever admit to Laura, but she was always so resilient and resourceful. Nat had faced aliens and monsters and assassins and gods and betrayals and had always come out the other side more or less in one piece. Laura had foolishly begun to believe that she always would.

But Nat hadn't been facing a faceless and treacherous menace, she had been facing a terrible choice: her life, or Clint's, or trillions of people across the universe. Of course she would bear that burden herself. The news of Natasha's death had come as a shock, but under the circumstances, Laura thought, her decision was thoroughly unsurprising.

"That sounds like Nat," she said shakily.

It did, Clint thought. He rested his head on Laura's, her hair tickling his cheek. The faint floral scent of her shampoo lingered impossibly after all these years, and he was so incredibly grateful for her presence then that he ached.

_Tell my family I love them_

_Tell them yourself._

It struck Clint then that Natasha was part of his family, but he had never told _her _that.

He felt himself slipping again, drowning in the overwhelming tide of misery, guilt, and loss for so long that he became consumed with exhaustion.

Clint felt dazed later when Laura persuaded him upstairs to their bedroom, newly cleaned, the bed made up with fresh linens. He numbly stripped down to his boxers and fell into bed beside his wife, who was so warm and solid and really, truly there. He held her impossibly close and drank in her continued presence at his side, feeling so completely grateful that she was there at all.

Maybe it was the combination of Laura in his arms, the knowledge the kids were down the hall, and the permeating feeling of exhaustion overtaking him, but Clint slept through the night for the first time in five years.

.

* * *

.

Sunlight streamed brightly through the windows and birds twittered and sang outside when Laura woke the following morning. The previous day had seemed like a bewildering hallucination, starting with a lazy summer day at the farm and ending five years later in a decrepit house alone with her children, her battle-worn husband returning from a war she'd been unaware of, and the news that her dear friend was gone. None of it seemed real.

Clint's arms were wrapped around her and she ran her fingers lightly across his forearm and down to his wrist. He was leaner, his muscles more sinewy than before. She twisted in his arms to face him. Beneath the usual stubble his cheeks were more hollow, his eyes more lined, and even in sleep his expression seemed troubled. Laura extracted one of her hands and caressed his temple lightly, fingers in the soft bristles of the shaved hair and thumb smoothing over the crease between his eyebrows.

Clint stirred under her touch and before long his clear blue eyes were blinking open. He was always a little disoriented when he woke from sleep, so Laura remained steady in her gaze as emotion and realization flashed behind his eyes. He embraced her and dropped a kiss onto her forehead, reveling in the moment of tranquility as much as the tumult of his own thoughts would allow.

They would have to tell the kids today.

Laura found an unopened box of oats and some canned apples in the pantry and they busied themselves making breakfast. Clint found that he was unable to eat. Before long, he felt Laura take his hand under the table. He cleared his throat but was unable to speak.

Clint looked to his wife, who sat beside him with strands of her dark hair framing her face where they had come loose from her ponytail, so willingly sharing a burden of grief with him that she was unable to fully understand. He could not comprehend how it was possible to feel such profound solace with his family while sorrow tore at his heart.

"Guys, we have to talk to you about something," Laura said, voice remarkably steady but her hand gripping his tighter. Cooper and Lila looked over at her with mild interest but remained silent. Nathaniel was busy scraping his spoon through the congealing oatmeal at the bottom of his bowl.

"After you all disappeared," Clint began, still gripping Laura's hand like a lifeline. "A few of the Avengers stuck around trying to fix things. Natasha and Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark worked really hard with a few others to bring everyone back."

"Cool," Lila said. She grinned at her brother, who looked pleased

"Did you help?" Cooper asked eagerly. Sensing his siblings' interest, Nathaniel looked up, too. Clint nodded.

"Yeah." Clint felt like he was stumbling over his own tongue. This wasn't exactly how he wanted the conversation to go. He'd wanted to break the news as gently as possible, but even as he was thinking it he realized there was no painless way to tell them that their beloved aunt was gone. He was losing control of his words and cleared his throat to buy some time.

"What happened?" Cooper prompted. There was a subtle hesitancy in his voice that made Laura think he suspected bad news was coming.

"The mission we had to do, and the battle in the end, it was all really dangerous. Natasha fought really hard to bring everyone back — to bring you four back—and to make sure I got to come home, too. But Nat … she, uh—" his voice broke off. He wasn't sure whether he could bring himself to say it out loud again.

It turned out that he didn't have to.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Cooper asked quietly, looking between his parents with a sober expression on his face that made him seem far older than his 13 years.

Clint looked to Laura. The look that passed between the was confirmation enough for the older kids.

"No!" Lila shouted furiously, throwing her spoon into her empty bowl and pushing her chair back so fast it scraped against the floor. She was fully standing before her spoon had fully stopped clattering in the bowl.

"Lila—" Laura tried to soothe, feeling tears well at the corners of her own eyes, but Lila was shaking her head as if preventing the words from reaching her ears would undo the truth behind them. Before either of her parents could stop her, she bolted across the room, yanked open the sliding door, and sprinted outside.

"Lila," Clint bellowed after her. He looked from Laura, a tear dropping down her cheek, to Cooper, who appeared to be breathing far too quickly, to Nathaniel, who looked both confused and scared, and didn't know what to do.

How the hell was he supposed to help his family through their grief when his own was so blinding?

"What's happening?" Nathaniel asked, looking around at them with wide eyes. "Why's Lila mad?"

"Oh, honey," Laura said, moving to sit in Lila's vacated chair next to her youngest son. She ran her hand through his hair gently. "She's not mad, she's sad. You remember how Bibi died and went to heaven when you were really little?" He nodded. "Well, Auntie Nat died helping us, so she's in heaven now, too."

"Excuse me," Cooper muttered to no one in particular, standing up and stalking out of the room without bothering to clear his dishes.

"She's not coming home?" Laura pushed Nate's light brown hair back from his forehead and found herself unable to say the word she needed to. She looked up from her youngest son's face and her eyes found Clint's. Her cheeks glistened with tears

"No, Nate," Clint said, a lump rising into his throat. "She's not coming home." The words shredded his throat.

He crossed the room to stand behind Laura, leaning down and wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind. She clutched his arms like a lifeline and he could feel her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. He dropped a kiss into her hair before resting his cheek gently on her head, exhaling a long sigh.

"Why is Mommy crying?" Nathaniel asked, squirming in his chair as he looked up at Clint. The thin dusting of freckles over his cheeks and nose were just like the ones Lila had at that age.

"She misses Auntie Nat, kiddo," Clint said, his throat tightening. Tears threatened to rise into his eyes and he gritted his teeth against them.

"But you brought us back when we were gone. Bring her back, too."

"This is different, Nate." Laura's voice quivered as she spoke. "She is dead just like Bibi is, and she can't come back."

_An everlasting exchange._ A chill went up Clint's spine.

"But she's coming to my party, she said so."

"Sweetheart—"

"She said so," Nathaniel insisted, his little jaw set. "She said so and Auntie Nat always does what she says." And then, inexplicably, he slid down off his chair, marched into the living room, switched on the television and plopped down in front of it.

Clint and Laura both turned and stared after him. He kissed the top of his wife's head and hugged her before breaking apart. She turned to face him, nose and eyes red, face wet with tears.

"That went —" she began.

"Yeah."

"You should probably—" Laura gestured toward the back door. She was right. He needed to make sure Lila was okay.

"Yeah."

.

* * *

.

Clint knew where Lila would be even before he left the house.

The treehouse in the woods looked weathered, a little neglected, some of the branches overgrown, but otherwise no worse for wear. He arrived at the base of the forked tree and listened hard. Silence. Clint looked up at the underside of the treehouse, reached up for the woven nylon rope, and pulled down to unfold the wooden ladder. It seemed stable but creaked slightly under his weight when he ascended the rungs.

When Clint emerged into the small interior of the treehouse it was littered with a thick layer of dust and debris from disuse but was otherwise unchanged. Light filtered in through the grimy glass of each of the four windows and the shelves lining the far wall were heavy with cobwebs but still contained neat rows of plastic boxes with latching lids. A woven multi-color hammock hung against one wall. A solitary pair of binoculars sat atop the little plastic table. Next to it was a small notebook, untouched aside from the chunk of one corner that appeared to have been chewed out by vermin. There was still a small broom and an umbrella leaning to the side of the door.

Lila was nowhere to be seen, but her footprints led him outside.

"Lila?" He called softly, shoes making prints in the dust on the floor. There was no answer. He pushed the door open and stepped outside onto the narrow wraparound porch.

Around one side of the treehouse, where one of the forked trunks sloped upward steeply toward the sky, was a series of narrow wooden boards bolted into the tree for footholds. A little wooden platform sat a couple yards away from the main treehouse at an elevation, a secondary lookout that Cooper had dubbed "The Nest" when they'd first built it. Clint climbed the few extra feet to find Lila sitting against the back railing, knees drawn up to her chest with her arms folded over them.

His little girl looked up at him, her dark eyes red-rimmed, chin resting on her forearm. He didn't say anything at first, feet thudding when he hit the wooden platform. It took half a stride to reach her and he exhaled heavily as he sat beside her.

"Hey, kid," he said quietly. Clint looked into Lila's face and her eyes seemed to scan his. Her hair was starting to fall into her face and he reached out to tuck it behind her ear. For a long time, she simply blinked up at him, and he was struck by how quickly she was growing up. She was almost eleven years old, but right now she wore an expression of such vulnerability that she seemed years younger.

"Is she really dead?" Lila asked, her voice small. Clint swallowed hard. Each time he acknowledged the events of the previous day it shredded at his chest. An image of the skeletal red being gliding over the craggy rocks in a tattered cloak appeared in his mind's eye and he looked away, staring straight in front of him.

_You must lose that which you love._

_I'm trying to save your life, you idiot._

"Yeah, honey," he told her. "She is."

"Are you sure?" There was a tiny hopeful gleam in her eye that he completely understood. He and Natasha had defied the odds and overcome impossible obstacles together so many times that he'd started to think that they could even make it through time and space unscathed.

Another horrible image was conjured in his mind's eye, dark blood pooling beneath her vivid red hair, and he couldn't stop his breath from shaking as he exhaled his answer.

"Yeah."

"Like really, completely sure?"

"Lila," Clint said with gentle finality, "I was there." His throat was tightening again and he couldn't meet his daughter's eyes. Out of his periphery, he saw her shaking her head as if she was trying to get water out of her ears. Her breath hitched in a gasping cry and she sniffled. Hearing his daughter cry like that tore at his heart. Clint put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward him in a tight embrace. Her shoulders were shaking with each sob and all he could do was hold her until her cries began to abate.

The sudden sound of twigs snapping below startled them and Clint craned his neck to see Cooper standing in the clearing beneath them. He was looking up to where Clint and Lila sat with his hands stuffed in his pockets and backpack over his shoulders.

"Can I come up?" He asked. Lila gave a loud sniffle and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

"Sure, join the party," Clint said grimly, nodding to his son.

"Yeah, I don't see how that's a party," Cooper shrugged, but started toward the treehouse anyway. Something tugged at the back of Clint's memory that he was unable to place and he quickly pushed the thought aside.

It only took a minute for Cooper to clamber into the treehouse and then up the hand- and foot-holds onto the little lookout platform. He set his backpack down before wedging himself into the gap between the side railing and Clint's other side. Clint rested his other arm around Coopers shoulders, and the three of them sat there snugly, side-by-side.

God, he had missed them more than words could say.

"So, uh, am I allowed to ask what happened?" Cooper asked tentatively, pushing his floppy hair out of his eyes but carefully not making eye contact with the other two. "I just don't get how anything could— I mean, you must have been fighting something really, really powerful if—" He struggled to put his thoughts into words and glanced at his sister, who had sniffled again.

"Aunt Nat's just so tough," Lila said. She spoke into her sleeve so that her voice was muffled.

"Hard to believe anything could take her out," Cooper finished sadly, his voice beginning to fray at the edges.

"Well, whoever did is gonna pay for it, right Dad?" Lila insisted rather than asked, her eyes wide and filled with fiery determination. "You and Hulk and Captain America and Mr. Stark? You're still the Avengers, right?"

Clint felt a pang at the mention of Tony and let out a long breath. He was unsure of how much to tell them. He couldn't let his family — or anyone else, for that matter — think that Nat's death had been simply another casualty of war, brought about by unfortunate timing or through some fault in her own abilities. It would be an insult to her memory that he would not allow. He squinted into the distance.

"Honey, there's nothing to avenge," he said gently. "Nat sacrificed herself to bring back everyone who disappeared. It was her choice." Clint felt the gaping hollow in his chest grow wider at his own words

"And you just _let_ her?" Cooper said before he could stop himself. He regretted the words as soon as he saw the devastated expression that crossed his father's face. "Sorry, I—"

"There was no other way. We fought over it, but she made her decision and I couldn't stop her." Clint paused and silence fell. _I tried so hard to stop her._ He closed his eyes.

He had successfully talked Natasha out of something that she'd made up her mind to do only once in his life, and that had been 15 years ago. Clint had recognized the glint of unwavering steel behind her emerald eyes when she'd made her choice on Vormir, even if he hadn't wanted to consciously acknowledge it.

He wondered if, all these years later, she was still keeping that goddamned ledger. He swallowed hard.

"Billions and billions of people are alive now because of her, including you and your mom and brother. She's a hero." Clint's voice was quiet but full of conviction.

Several seconds passed in silence before Lila let out a large breath in a huff and stomped one foot hard on the wooden platform in frustration.

"It's not fair," she wailed, beginning to cry again in earnest. "I don't want her to be a hero, I just want her to be Auntie Nat."

The weight in Clint's chest seemed to rise into his throat as Lila's grief-stricken voice pierced him. He struggled to stuff it back down. His arms tightened around his children's shoulders and he could feel Cooper shaking with silent sobs. For a moment, he allowed himself a selfish, irrational, childish thought that he voiced in a whisper so soft that neither Cooper nor Lila could hear.

"Me too, kiddo."

.

* * *

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Fin.

I was close to tears just writing this, which for me is saying something.

Good? Bad? Mediocre? Heart-wrenching? Please, please let me know what you think. I really value your reviews and your feedback makes me a better writer. Your opportunities to review are rapidly dwindling

One of my reviewers asked whether this was my only story. It is indeed my first and only fanfic. I was introduced to the concept of fan fiction only a couple of years ago and was never really impelled to write one before.

There is an age discrepancy to address with Lila in the films, because in AoU that kid is 7 at the most, but I imagine that they fudged things in order to put Russo's kid in Endgame. Which is fine, but I want to be consistent with _my _timeline, so there you go.

Stay tuned for the final installment in the next couple of weeks. Just a bit of housekeeping, I've been going back through the rest of the story again and have found a few bits with spelling/grammar/punctuation errors that I'll be correcting. If you notice a new chapter update (for those of you that follow this story) without a new chapter, that's why.

Until next time :)


	15. Chapter 15

Happy Wednesday!

I'd meant to get this chapter out much sooner, but life happened (as it does). My original intention had been to make this the final chapter, but it worked out that it would have been way too long. This means that there will be a bonus 3rd part to this segment. I didn't think you readers would mind ;-)

Per usual, I do not own or benefit financially from anything associated with the Avengers or Marvel.

On to the chapter!

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* * *

Summer 2023 - Part II

* * *

.

The news of Tony Stark's death broke over all of the major news networks later that same afternoon. Cooper's shouts alerted the rest of the family, who scrambled into the living room to watch the broadcast.

Somehow, every network had gathered a fairly accurate account of the epic battle: a massive and formidable alien army led by Thanos himself facing off against a fierce militia of humans, wizards, heroes, and alien beings from across the universe. At the center of it all was a magical and mysteriously powerful gauntlet, the same device that had been used to snap trillions of beings out of existence and then again to bring them all back. Stark had worn the gauntlet and snapped his fingers a third time, vanquishing Thanos' army for good. The power of it had all been too much for his body to bear, the newscasters said, and he died a hero's death as a result. He would surely be immortalized in history for this brave act of sacrifice.

A ticker scrolled by on the bottom of the screen with hotline numbers to assist in locating loved ones, find food and housing for the displaced, and provide emergency counseling services to those in need. The chyron above the ticker read _"Stark Dead, Life Restored."_

There was no mention of the Infinity Stones. There was no mention of time travel.

"Captain Steven Rogers and the rest of the group known as the Avengers played a crucial role in the return of the disappeared as well as the defeat of the titan Thanos and his invading army," the newscaster was saying. "A representative from the Avenger Initiative today also confirmed rumors that Natasha Romanoff, the controversial figure previously known by the alias Black Widow, also perished in the effort. In other news—"

And that was it. Just a fleeting reference that made Natasha sound like a common casualty of a battle that she hadn't even been able to fight in. There was no recognition of the strength with which she had kept the Avengers together and active —largely on her own— after the decimation, and not a single word of the indispensable role she had played in bringing everyone back.

Clint felt his fists clench but he was too stunned to move from his seat on the couch. Next to him, a muscle twitched in Laura's jaw and she sniffed angrily.

"_Controversial_?" Laura said in a low voice that trembled with disbelief. "How can they still— after everything, even now—" she spluttered, so upset she was losing command of her words. There was a rare display of temper behind her usually warm brown eyes.

Clint understood her meaning. Natasha had spent five years holding the Avengers together with her bare hands, leading the fight for a solution long after almost everyone else—including him—had given up and moved on. She had given everything, including her life, working toward this outcome, but the media was treating her like an afterthought.

He reached out to take Laura's hand, to comfort her, but Lila's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"They didn't show her picture," she said. "How come? They showed Mr. Stark's."

"Who's picture?" Nathaniel asked from where he sat on the floor, scribbling away with his crayons on a piece of paper.

"Aunt Nat's," Lila said softly.

"She doesn't like taking pictures," Nathaniel said absently from his spot on the floor, not looking up as he reached out to switch his red crayon out for a purple one.

They all looked over at him. It was clear that he had only been halfway paying attention to the TV and did not comprehend the report. Cooper opened his mouth to reply, but Clint held up a hand to stop his older son from speaking. The news reporter in the background started in on a fluff piece about the reappearance of beloved pets who had vanished in the blip.

"No, she didn't," Clint agreed. Nathaniel looked up at his father, blinked, and then shrugged. His eyes swung around the room to fix on his sister.

"I bet if you say please, she'll take one with you—"

"Nate—" Laura started gently, but he didn't seem to hear her.

"—next time she comes over."

Laura looked sadly at her husband, usually sharp blue eyes glazed over as though feuding with his own thoughts. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before standing from the couch, taking a few short steps toward Nathaniel, and sitting at his side. She put a hand on his shoulder but Nathaniel did not look up from his paper, now a mass of multicolored crayon circles that could only make sense to him.

"Honey, look at me," Laura said. He did, looking back with eyes the exact shade of blue as Clint's. "Auntie Nat can't take any pictures anymore. She died and went to heaven, remember?" Nathaniel looked back at her with confusion and protest.

"She'll come back to visit," he said confidently. "She'll find a way."

Lila looked at her little brother in disbelief, her eyes filling with tears. Her jaw was clenched and she stood so quickly that her hair whipped across her face when she turned and left the room. Clint, Laura, and Cooper listened to her footfalls as she stomped up the stairs to her room and heard a door slam in the distance.

"No, Nate," Laura told him gently, her voice beginning to fray. "People who are in heaven can't call or visit."

"But Auntie Nat said —" he began, but his voice was drowned out.

"Shut up, Nate, SHUT UP!" Cooper exploded. He was on his feet in anger now, a tortured expression on his face. His ears reddened and his fists clenched tightly as he rounded on his brother. "She's not taking any pictures with Lila and she's not coming to your stupid birthday party, she's not going to come visit or tell scary stories or go to our games or do anything else ever again because she's dead and she's never, ever coming back so just SHUT UP!"

Silence rang through the room. Laura and Clint stared at their eldest son, dumbfounded; Cooper had always been the most even-tempered of their children. Nathaniel's lip began to quiver and his eyes filled with tears and his face contorted in a hurt and angry expression. His lip began to quiver.

"Mo-om," he cried, turning into Laura and burying his face into her side. She caressed Nathaniel's head soothingly as he cried into her jeans. Cooper looked shocked by his own actions, and it was clear that he had not meant to hurt his brother. Laura ached for them both and she looked sadly at Cooper.

"Cooper, he doesn't understand the permanence—"

"Whatever," Cooper mumbled at his shoes, hands stuffed into his pockets.

Clint lingered silently on the periphery for a moment before looking at his wife. They shared a glance and he stepped toward his oldest child. His shoes thudded heavily on the bare wood floors and sounded almost ominous, but his voice was gentle.

"C'mon," Clint said, resting a hand on one shoulder and lightly steering Cooper out of the room. "Let's take a walk."

Cooper's face was pained as he turned and walked with his father out the front door. His feet dragged heavily down the stairs as Clint led him down the front drive and toward the road. They walked wordlessly for several minutes, the only noise was the gravel crunching under their feet as they walked the empty road. Clint looked over at his son, whose head was hung low and his hands, still balled into fists, were stuffed into his pockets.

"Coop," he began, squinting at the sky ahead. The day was overcast but bright. "Nathaniel doesn't understand what death means. He's too young."

"I didn't mean to yell at him. I just… it feels like he's rubbing his stupid hope in our faces and it's ticking me off." Cooper stared straight ahead, where he could see a car approaching from the distance. Clint nodded and exhaled heavily.

"It's not hope for him," Clint said evenly. "He doesn't get that dying is permanent." He felt strangely disconnected from his own words but his jaw tightened anyway. Cooper heaved a sigh and kicked hard at a rock on the ground. It skittered forward several meters. He watched the rock come to rest on the edge of the paved road and looked back up at his father, exasperated, for a fraction of a second before concentrating intensely on the ground in front of him.

"It's still annoying," he muttered. "But I'll say 'sorry' when we get back." Clint reached out with one arm and hugged Cooper around the shoulders, pulling him in and savoring the feeling of being able to hold his son at all.

"Thanks, buddy," Clint told his son. The approaching car sped down the road past them, kicking a cloud of dry dust into the air behind it as they walked on. "You know everyone copes with loss a little differently."

Cooper squinted up at him, light brown hair falling back out of his eyes. He looked pensively over at his dad. Clint, feeling his son's eyes on him, looked intentionally away toward the end of the road.

"So how are _you_ coping?" Cooper asked. Clint stared at him, considering the thoughtful and concerned expression on his face, and let out a long exhalation through pursed lips.

Clint considered the question, which felt immensely more complex than Cooper had intended. How was he doing, really? The immeasurable joy of having his family back was tempered by the profound grief that came with Natasha's death. Then there was the guilt, he felt sometimes like he was drowning in guilt, so much of it stemming from his unspeakable actions over the past five years to having been unable keep Natasha from falling into that chasm to the irreconcilable truth that he'd been so willing to die there at all.

None of it was anything he could confide to anyone, especially not Laura. Not yet, at least. So he shrugged and cleared his throat and continued to stare into the horizon.

"I'm okay," he lied smoothly. He could tell that Cooper's skeptical gaze was fixed on him, but the second he looked down at his son, Cooper was looking at his own feet and Clint wondered whether he had imagined the feeling.

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did—" he hesitated, looking up at Clint as if unsure whether to even ask. "Did she suffer a lot before she died?" Clint swallowed hard.

"Your mom asked me that, too. No, I don't think so. It was very quick." He wished they would all stop asking these questions. Cooper nodded and sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Just then, Clint's phone began a staccato buzzing inside his back pocket. He removed his arm from Cooper's shoulders to extract the phone from his pocket. The screen read "Unknown Caller." After a brief hesitation, Clint swiped the icon and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Clint?" Bruce's voice came through the speaker and Clint released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He kept walking, Cooper looking up at him curiously.

"Hey, man."

"Hey," Bruce paused on the other end of the line. "I'm uh, sorry to interrupt time with your family."

"No, no, it's okay," he said. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to let you know that, uh, Pepper's gonna be holding a memorial service for Tony tomorrow afternoon. It's short notice, but if you can make it—"

"Yeah, just give me the time and the coordinates. I'll be there."

"Ok, good, I'll let Pepper know." Cooper was looking up at Clint curiously now but said nothing as they continued to amble down the road. Clint cleared his throat, eager to break the awkward silence that had settled over the line.

"So how's everything there?" He heard Bruce inhale sharply.

"I'm combing through what I can of the wreckage, but most of it is still smoldering," Bruce said, and Clint imagined him shrugging on the other end. "Strange helped send most of our people back through their portals home, but a few are hanging around here to regroup, help out where they can."

There was a very pregnant pause. A heavy sigh was audible before Bruce spoke again.

"I miss her, man. I tried so hard, when I had the gauntlet…" His voice was full of emotion as he trailed off and Clint could feel a lump rising in his throat. He wished Bruce hadn't brought this up. "I'm sorry, Clint."

_An everlasting exchange, a soul for a soul. _The red-faced alien's voice returned as a hollow echo in his mind.

"Nothing for you to be sorry about," he replied without thinking, his voice feeling almost mechanical in his throat. Clint's tone softened and he murmured "I miss her, too."

The lump in his throat rose and he fought to swallow it back down because Cooper was looking at him sadly and he couldn't lose it in front of his kid, not when Cooper's own world had already been so acutely tilted on its axis. It was several seconds later before he finally trusted himself to speak without his voice shaking. He cleared his throat.

"Well, uh, guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Take care, Clint."

"You too."

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. Wordlessly, he did an about-face and Cooper followed suit as they started back toward the house.

"What's happening tomorrow?" Cooper asked curiously.

"Tony's funeral." Cooper nodded but said nothing, instead looking into his father's lined face, proof that years really had passed between his own disappearance and reappearance.

Several more minutes passed in silence. Another couple of cars drove past them on the road, one slowing down visibly and rolling down the window for the driver to get a look at them. Clint wasn't surprised. Laura had told him yesterday that neighbors and friends were calling or just dropping by unannounced to see who had reappeared, taking inventory of old friends and neighbors while catching up with the time that had passed.

"Dad, did you, um… is there a…where's…" Clint watched his son struggle for the words until he finally spit out, "What happened to Aunt Nat's body?"

For a second, Clint was dangling over a chasm again, suspended precariously from a cliff face with the frigid wind cutting through his tactical suit as it whistled around him. Hundreds of feet below, Nat's ruined body was sprawled with limbs spread-eagle at odd angles. A strange roar like a cannon blast had followed so quickly that he'd hardly had time to process what he was seeing. Then came a flash of otherworldly bright light before he'd inexplicably woken in the pool of still water at the base of the mountain clutching the soul stone in his hand.

_A soul for a soul_. That stone was the only thing he'd had left of Natasha. When Clint had arrived back at the compound, it had taken every ounce of his will power to unclench his fist from around the yellow stone. He might have imagined the hush that fell over the rest of the team at the sight of it. This stone came with a price so much higher than any of the others and the weight of it pulsed through the room. Even Tony refused to touch it, instead instructing Clint where to place it within the reinforced glass case where their forged gauntlet waited.

The stone was a thousand miles away now, soon to be returned back to that execrable planet at the point when she had traded her life for it. Clint wondered whether the creature who guarded the stone would allow them to have her body in exchange. Nat would tease him for being sentimental, but after all she had done for the universe, for _him_, she deserved a proper resting place.

"It's gone."

"So she doesn't get, like, a funeral or anything?" Cooper looked up at him, hazel eyes brimming with tears.

Clint had not considered this in light of the chaos of the last two days and he was ashamed to admit it. She certainly deserved just as much recognition as Stark, but he knew that would never happen. Natasha's past had been so shrouded in contention that despite everything she had done for the world, both as an Avenger and independently, she had never gained widespread favor or accolades. While Stark thrived in the spotlight, Natasha had always operated best working quietly, from the shadows.

Tony also had a family to arrange his affairs for him, and the thought sent a stab of guilt through Clint. Natasha's families had been the Avengers and the Bartons, and he was the common denominator. Laura and the kids, along with half of the Avengers team, had only just rematerialized. The rest of the Avengers had been shaken by Tony's death. On reflection, it was unsurprising that nobody's first thought had been to memorialize Nat. The realization wrenched at Clint's gut.

"It's not fair," Cooper mumbled, staring down at his shoes. He had correctly interpreted Clint's silence as a 'no.'

"No, it's not," Clint agreed. "But you know what Nat would think about having a funeral for her?"

"Yeah, she would've totally hated it," Cooper said, almost smiling now at the thought. "Still, we should do something. We're her family and it's our job to make sure people remember her." Clint squinted ahead at the farmhouse, growing larger as they approached.

"We can talk to Mom about it later," he told Cooper. His stomach writhed at the thought of facing a memorial service for Natasha. Funerals meant a recognition of finality, and the idea of his best friend being irrevocably gone was still nauseating.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Sure," he replied, jumping on the change of subject.

"Do you think God let Aunt Nat into Heaven?"

Clint was so taken aback by the question that he stopped abruptly, whirling around to look his son squarely in the face. His expression held nothing but pure concern.

"I mean—" Cooper started in quickly under his father's stare, trying to justify why he'd asked. "She said she wasn't sure she believed in God at all and I know she's done a lot of bad stuff, but she also saved half the universe. Do you think that was enough?"

Clint searched his son's eyes and as he did so, his immediate answer—"Of course it was"—died on his lips. He had almost overlooked the strange combination of innocence and wisdom that came with the early teenage years, and for a fleeting moment he hated that he'd forgotten that Cooper possessed both qualities. His eldest child would not be appeased by the easy answer, but no other immediate response came to mind.

He couldn't tell Cooper that he didn't really believe in God anymore. Clint cleared his throat.

"What do you think?"

"Well," Cooper began, eyebrows furrowed and a corner of his mouth pinched upward in concentration, "None of us can know for sure, can we? But I think that if she really sacrificed herself to save that many lives, plus the time she spent helping people as an Avenger…" He trailed off, eyes drifting toward the horizon. A few moments later, he looked back at Clint with a tiny smirk on his face so reminiscent of Natasha's teasing expression that it was startling. "And the number of times she's saved your butt—"

He had no idea, Clint thought. His breath caught in his throat and the snowy mountaintop again flashed in front of his eyes.

"_You think I want to do it? I'm trying to save your life, you idiot."_

He stuffed the memory away, refocusing his mind on the present where his son was still speaking.

"—after all of that, I think she's earned eternal peace," Cooper finished. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at his father with contentment.

Clint blinked at Cooper and nodded slowly. He took a step toward his son, wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders, and hugged him close for a long moment before starting off down the road toward the house again. A shadow of a smile crossed his lips.

"I think you're right, bud.'

.

* * *

.

They went to Tony's funeral the next day. The five of them stood near the back. Cooper's tie was too short, Lila's shoes were scuffed, and Nate had refused to have his hair combed. Even though Laura had fussed over it, Clint didn't much care. Fury and Hill had nodded to Clint as the somber group had assembled outside of Stark's cabin waiting for Pepper to appear. Nathaniel was staring openly at the small contingent to the their left and Nebula, sensing them, turned and acknowledged Clint with a subtle tilt of the head. He nodded back.

There were so many people here that he didn't know and the realization was an acutely uncomfortable reminder of all the time he had spent running. Carol Danvers and Okoye of Wakanda both peered briefly in his direction as the family had arrived. Their furtive glances told Clint that though he had never met either before the battle against Thanos, both knew of him—of _Ronin_—and of how he'd spent the majority of the past five years. He shuddered at the recollection of what he had become during his absence from the team.

Laura gripped Clint's arm tightly when Pepper appeared, carrying a small wreath and holding the hand of a little girl. Stark's kid, Morgan, Clint knew from the photos Tony had shown all of them at the Avengers compound in the days leading up to their Time Heist attempt. Laura looked at him with undisguised shock in her expression. Clint must have forgotten to tell her that Stark had a little girl. She looked maybe half a year younger than Nathaniel, and he noticed that Laura held Nathaniel a little closer as little Morgan walked past them clutching her mother's hand.

The service was over quickly and after several minutes of silence, watching the floating wreath drift further across the pond, the group was released to mingle. Someone had arranged for a light catered lunch, so Clint followed the crowd into the cabin with his family and stood off to one side.

T'challa approached him with his hand outstretched and introduced his sister and Okoye to Clint's family. Laura and the kids shook their hands and when the introductions were through, Okoye caught Clint's eye. She bowed her head and addressed him somberly.

"I was truly sorry to hear about Nat," she said steadily, T'Challa and Shuri also bowing their heads. "My condolences. I know that you were friends." Her words sent a fresh wave of grief through him. Okoye, whom he had not met until a few days previously, had known Natasha well enough to call her 'Nat.' He was blindsided by a rush of guilt at having left her for all those years.

While he had crumbled under the weight of his own losses, she had stood strong and tenacious. She had reached out to those who remained and made new allies and spent those intervening years working toward solutions with them. Natasha had continued to strengthen the team by building new relationships on trust and respect.

Clint was supposed to be her best friend, but where had he been during those years? He had only been thinking about his own anguish and desire for some sort of vengeance, some sort of _balance, _that he hadn't thought of Natasha's own pain and loss, the fact that she'd lost her first family, half of a second, and her best friend as well. The whole time, the _whole damn time_, she continued to reach out to him, had wanted him by her side in the fight but he had given up. He snubbed her appeals to come back and evaded her instead.

Regret clamped around his chest like a vise. He should have been there.

Laura's hand on his shoulder was a reminder that he had not responded and he looked sideways at her, her eyes imploring. He turned back to Okoye.

"Thank you," his voice cracked and he looked at the solemn Wakandans. T'Challa bowed his head subtly and Clint returned the gesture before they moved along. He felt Laura take his hand in hers.

"Honey, we need to give our condolences to Pepper," she said, her voice soft. He nodded, his eyes hollow, and she steered all of them over to the small group of people gathered around Tony's widow.

The minutes that followed were a blur of faces and brief offerings of sympathy from others who seemed to know Natasha, and the room was buzzing with a dozen voices murmuring and several were glancing over at Clint more than was natural—was he imagining it?—and he clung tighter to Laura's hand to try to ground himself but his own thoughts and the low mutterings in the room kept reverberating in his head and this wasn't right, it was supposed to be Tony's funeral but his vision was blurring and the weight of acute loss and guilt and regret pressed in on his chest heavily and he could not force air into his lungs —

"You look like you need some air," a softly accented voice registered from his left and Clint turned toward it. Wanda's face swam into focus. He blinked and saw that Laura, Lila, and Cooper were looking up at him, too. Laura looked into her husband's tormented eyes sadly and squeezed his hand with one of hers, bringing the other up to his cheek and allowing her fingers to brush the short strands of hair at his temple. The gesture was so comforting that Clint closed his eyes briefly.

"Go ahead," she said softly. "The kids can get something to eat. Take as long as you need." Clint gripped her hand in gratitude and allowed Wanda to lead him, a hand on his shoulder blade, out the back door of the cabin. Laura watched them go before fastening a reassuring smile onto her face and turning to the kids. "Let's fix some plates while Dad talks to his friend."

Cooper shrugged at Lila and the two of them moved in the direction of the food, where a handful of people seemed to be orbiting just for something to do. Laura reached for Nathaniel's hand to follow the other two, but he stood firmly rooted to the spot, resisting.

"Mama, is Auntie Nat getting here soon?" Nathaniel craned his neck and looked around the room as though expecting her to walk through the door. Laura could feel tears welling in her eyes again as she bent on one knee in front of her son. She brushed his thick hair off of his forehead.

"She's not coming, baby," Laura said gently. Nate shook his head

"But the grown-ups keep talking about her -"

"Sweetie, we've talked about this," she told him, resting her hands gently on his arms. "Auntie Nat died. She isn't coming." A tear rolled down her cheek at the words. Speaking the words aloud still felt like a physical wound.

"But Mr. Stark saved _everyone_, didn't he? So how come —" His voice was growing louder and a frightening-looking blue woman who looked to be part robot turned her head toward them. Cooper and Lila looked back at the sound of their brother's voice, too, wondering where they had gone. Laura gestured at them to go on and tried to calm her youngest child quickly.

"Shhh," she hushed, trying to guide him toward a side door that led to the porch outside. "Let's go outside for a minute."

"I don't want to go outside, I want to see Auntie Nat!" Nathaniel's cheeks and nose were reddening and the whole group of people with the robot-woman had stopped their conversation to look over at them. Laura stood and hoisted the little boy onto her hip. She started toward the side door, her own vision now blurring with tears that were coming faster now. Nathaniel's protests were growing louder and she tried to soothe him in a voice that was low and even.

"Hush now, _Zoloty_." She had said it without thinking, perhaps because it was one of the tricks Natasha had used with the kids to help them calm down, and she was desperate not to make a scene at Tony Stark's funeral in front of so many strange and unfamiliar people. Almost at once, Laura knew it had been the wrong thing to say.

"No, that's my special Auntie Nat's name, you can't call me it!" he shouted and stomped his foot in protest just as Laura reached the door and the two of them burst onto the wraparound porch. The door closed softly behind them, cutting off Nathaniel's cries.

Cooper and Lila looked uncomfortably around the room. A number of people were staring curiously after the door through which their mother and brother had just disappeared, one of whom seemed to be a raccoon. Only a couple were people that he recognized, including Nick Fury, his dad's old boss who looked as sinister as ever with his eye patch, and a very disheveled-looking Thor. He looked at Lila, who was glancing around apprehensively.

"C'mon," he muttered to his sister, dropping his empty plate back onto the stack. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Lila followed suit and the two of them made a beeline for the front door, slipping out into the fresh air and walking several paces to where the porch dead-ended into the side of the cabin and without speaking Cooper slid to the ground, back against the wall. Lila sat beside him looking thoroughly miserable.

"What a fiasco," Lila said. She plucked a fallen leaf off of the porch and began to absentmindedly shred it into tiny pieces.

"Mom says he doesn't understand," Cooper muttered resentfully.

"It's not fair. Of all the Avengers, how come _she _had to die?"

Cooper had no answer for this, so he continued to stare at his hands. He began to pick at his cuticles.

"It sucks she did just as much to save the world as Mr. Stark did, but nobody seems to give a damn," he said. Lila looked at him, startled. Cooper normally didn't speak so harshly. "She doesn't even get a funeral."

"Wait a sec, why not?" Lila sounded scandalized. Cooper leaned his head back against the wooden wall of the cabin and let out a long, low sigh.

"Because first, dad says there's no body. Nothing to bury. Also, she didn't have family like Mr. Stark did." Lila's brow furrowed in response and she continued to vigorously pull apart her leaf into confetti.

"_We_ are her family," she muttered.

"You know what I mean."

"And _you_ know what _I _mean," Lila said sharply, brushing the tiny pieces of leaf out of her lap. She picked a second leaf off of the plank floor and began to pick at it, too. "It's so unfair. She didn't have parents or siblings or a husband or kids and she's done so much for us—" Lila's voice quivered and dropped to a whisper, "she deserves a nice memorial."

Cooper watched a spider scuttle over the top of his shoe without speaking. He knew Lila was right, and he nudged her arm with his elbow.

"Yeah. We'll do something. Even if it's just us. We'll talk to Mom and Dad on the way home," he said resolutely. Lila nodded at her brother, scooting a little closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. The shredded bits of what used to be a leaf had settled in her lap.

"You're right," she whispered, feeling suddenly exhausted. "This whole thing completely sucks."

Just then, the front door sighed as it opened near them and Cooper looked over at the sound of heavy footfalls approaching. Steve Rogers was making his way toward them carrying a plate of sandwiches in one hand and balancing two full glasses in the other. Lila straightened up at once. Captain Rogers had been to their house several times over the past few years, usually in the context of picking up or dropping off Aunt Nat when she'd come to stay with them. Cooper and Lila knew that he was a good friend of both their dad and Natasha, and even though his visits were not generally long, he was always up for a round of cards or video game race with them before he left.

"Cooper, Lila, mind if I sit?" He nodded toward each them in turn with a small smile on his face, eyeing the empty stretch of porch opposite where the two of them sat.

Cooper shrugged and Lila gave a small noise of assent. Steve took a seat across from them and placed the plate between them. The two kids peered at him curiously.

"I noticed you came out here before you could get food," he said smoothly, handing each a glass of cold lemonade. The meaning of his words was clear to Cooper: _I was inside when your little brother freaked out_. "Thought you could use something to eat."

"Thanks," Cooper said. Steve looked around for a second before focusing back at them.

"So how are you guys holding up?" he asked. Cooper wasn't hungry but he really didn't feel like talking, so reached for a sandwich and quickly jammed a bite into his mouth. Lila eyed him sideways.

"It's been a weird and crappy few days," she told Steve honestly. To their surprise, he nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, it has," he said. "But I'll tell you what, it's good to see you guys and your mom again. Your dad's got to be so happy."

"He's… he's different," Lila admitted, staring down into her lap. "Like happy and sad at the same time. And he really doesn't like letting us out of his sight."

"He had a pretty rough few years," Steve said. "We all did." He looked out over the veranda. Fury and Hill seemed to be in deep conversation with Carol Danvers on the front stoop, and a lanky teen he had never seen was pacing in the yard with a cell phone in one hand. Nobody paid them any attention.

"Even Nat?" Cooper asked quietly. Steve looked at him carefully, a strange glint in his eye.

"Especially Nat," he replied. "She never gave up, though."

"That's what our dad said," Lila told him, and because she could not resist bragging a little, she went on, "He said that she brought trillions of people back. He wrote the number out. It's a lot of zeros."

"Yeah, it sure is," Steve agreed, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a grin at Lila's candor. He took a sandwich quarter off of the plate bit into it as he considered the kids sitting in front of him. He could not imagine the confusion of being a child in the decimation, unexpectedly disappearing and reappearing into a confused world town between two times. Jumping eras had been disorienting enough for him as an adult after coming out of the ice, and even if he couldn't foresee his survival back then, he'd chosen to make the sacrifice to begin with. None of the disappeared had any warning or any choice in the matter.

"He said her dying brought us back, too," Lila continued in a quiet voice, interrupting his thoughts. "So even though she died on purpose we can't be mad at her."

Steve nodded slowly, absently. He did not know the details of how Natasha's and Clint's last mission together had played out on Vormir, but he knew Nat so well that he had no reason to doubt Clint's spare recounting of the events.

_Whatever it takes. _ That had been their unofficial mantra for so long and he had brought the point home right before the team had embarked on the Time Heist. They had all known what they were up against and what it all might cost.

Clint's kid was right. They _couldn't_ be angry with Nat over her choice.

"Yeah," he agreed, and looked over at Cooper and Lila. Their gazes were fixed on him. "She really loved you guys, you know. She would have done pretty much anything to bring you back." Lila nodded and her eyes began to grow moist, which she tried to hide by concentrating on the bit of lemonade that remained in her glass. Cooper swallowed hard, unable to find words. Lila voiced the thought that was most prominent in his own mind.

"I miss her." Her voice was quiet and sad. Steve let out a long exhalation.

"Me too, kid."

"Is it weird that we're talking so much about her at someone else's funeral?" Lila asked, finishing the last of her lemonade and peering over the top of the glass at him.

"Nah, it's perfect," Steve said, swallowing his last bite of sandwich heavily. "Because Tony would have hated the focus being on anyone else and Nat loved getting under his skin." A reminiscent smile crossed his face and he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake.

They all looked up when the door opened and several people emerged, squinting in the sunlight as their shoes thudded across the porch and down the steps into the yard. Cooper thought he recognized one of them as a friend of his dad's—Scott something—but the two older adults and the middle-aged woman with sleek, dark hair were unfamiliar to him. The younger woman noticed the three of them sitting in the corner of the porch and nudged Scott, who turned to look at them. He and Steve nodded toward each other and Steve looked back to Cooper and Lila.

"Excuse me, guys, I have to chat with Dr. Pym for a minute," he told them. "Tell your dad to come find me before he leaves, okay?" Both kids nodded.

"Sure. Thanks for the food," Cooper said. He looked over at his sister, who was looking down at her hands in her lap. He nudged her shoulder, but she remained still and silent. Her focus seemed to be elsewhere, face scrunched up in contemplation. Steve smiled at them and made to stand.

"We're having a memorial service in a couple days," Lila blurted out suddenly before Steve could get fully to his feet. She was speaking quickly to get out as many words as possible before Cooper could stop her. Steve looked back at her with both eyebrows raised subtly, interested. "For Aunt Nat, I mean. You should come. She'd have wanted you to come. Please. I know you were friends."

Steve considered her for a long moment, noting the plea and the determination in her eyes. Cooper sat in silence beside his sister and picked at a stray thread at the end of his tie. He looked from one to the other, impressed with how levelly Lila was holding his gaze, until Steve finally nodded.

"Have your folks send me the details." With that, Steve gave them a small smile and stood. Cooper and Lila watched him walk away, footsteps heavy, and as he called a greeting to the man called Pym, Cooper jabbed Lila sharply with his elbow.

"Ow!" She exclaimed, frowning at him and rubbing her arm. Cooper raised his eyebrows pointedly at his sister. Lila straightened up, tucked her hair back behind her ear, and looked at him defiantly. "What? I'm taking initiative."

"Well you better explain your initiative to Mom and Dad before Captain Rogers finds them."

.

* * *

.

When Clint and Wanda returned to the house, they found Steve and Bruce waiting for them. Bruce waved Clint toward a nondescript black SUV and he followed with Steve while Wanda went back inside. Bruce cleared his throat.

"I, uh, wanted to give you some things... I mean, I was able to save some stuff," he began. At first Clint looked at him blankly and it took several seconds before Bruce's meaning clunked into place in his mind. "From the compound, I mean. Turns out her room was on the opposite side of the building, so-." His coice trailed off. They gathered around the rear of the SUV and Steve opened the hatch. Inside was a single unmarked cardboard box.

"It's not much but, well, you know Nat," Steve shrugged.

"She never did keep a lot of personal stuff," Clint agreed, moving closer without thinking. He reached out and tugged the box toward him, its weight deceptively light for the size, and glanced over his shoulders at his friends. "Mind if I—"

"Of course," Steve said, gesturing openly toward the box. "It's yours."

Clint nodded and placed his hand under one of the flaps. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he should wait until he was back at home with Laura, but despite the appeal of it he pushed the thought aside. There was something comforting about doing this with Steve and Bruce at his side, others who had experienced all of the crushing defeat and heartache and cruelty and struggle and hope and triumph that had come with the past few weeks. He hesitated only for a moment before tugging and the flaps gave way, scratching as they unfolded.

The smiling faces of Natasha and the kids looked back at him from behind the glass of a small picture frame. They were sitting in an enormous pile of fiery autumn leaves, Cooper shoulder to shoulder with Nat, Lila hanging between them with an arm slung over each of their shoulders, and Nathaniel nested between Natasha's outstretched legs, leaning back against her with a goofy, squinting grin on his face. Clint picked up the framed photograph and a small smile tugged at his lips.

He remembered the day Laura had taken this. It was about five and a half years ago, the last autumn they'd spent together. Natasha was on the run and couldn't make it for Lila's birthday, so she'd dropped in a couple of weeks later and they'd spent a crisp but cloudy fall day raking and jumping into a massive pile of leaves. Nat never liked having her picture taken, but she always had a soft spot where the kids were concerned and Lila only had to ask twice — along with the reminder that her aunt "owed her for missing her 10th birthday"— before Nat caved and allowed Laura to snap the shot on her phone. Laura had later printed and framed it for her, wrapping it as a holiday gift the following month.

"She kept that on her nightstand," Steve said at the same time as Clint was prickling with guilt. He'd had no idea, hadn't bothered to ask her during that entire five years how she was doing trying to cope with it all. He hadn't visit her in the compound until she brought him there two weeks before, after she'd found him in Tokyo. Had it really only been two weeks? It felt like a lifetime ago. He tried to swallow down those feelings as he set the photo carefully aside.

Beneath the photo were her favorite leather jacket and a pair of worn pink ballet slippers, and beneath those, a heavily dog-eared hardcover anthology of Russian poetry. There was a large gap between two of the pages and Clint flipped it open to find Natasha's SHIELD badge inexplicably tucked inside. He set those aside, too, and his breath caught in his throat when he looked back into the emptying box. Neatly folded inside was a familiar handmade quilt in shades of blue and white, the scraps arranged into a pattern of many-pointed stars.

It was the quilt that had been on her bed at farmhouse. Clint looked up at Steve and Bruce, sad and bewildered.

"When…?"

"Five years ago, after we — after Thanos destroyed the stones, we went to find you," Bruce said softly. He shrugged. "She brought it with her when we left, never said why."l

Clint blinked, absently running his fingers over the fraying edge of one star. Laura had made the quilt ages ago while she was pregnant with Cooper. Her doctors had put her on bedrest and she'd been going stir crazy, so she decided to try quilting. The ambitious project had kept her busy and allowed her to forget the misery of her confinement. The first time she'd visited the farm, Natasha had complimented Laura on the quilt because, even though it wasn't her style, the intricate details had impressed her. It remained on her bed at the house ever since.

"It reminded her of home," he said in a low voice. He swallowed hard and realized then that he had been so surprised to see the quilt that he hadn't noticed the other objects resting on it, an unmarked white envelope and an MP3 player.

Clint wasn't sure what he expected when he extracted the envelope, which was completely blank and sealed shut. Had she written a letter, some kind of parting message in case she didn't make it home from their final mission? That didn't seem right. Nat wasn't the type to write "If you're reading this, I'm dead" messages. He slid his finger under the edge of the envelope, peeked inside, and felt a lump rise into his throat as he tipped the envelope into his hand.

The delicate golden necklace, a tiny arrow suspended on a fine gold chain, slid with a whisper into his cupped palm.

"We put it in the envelope so it wouldn't get lost," Steve explained. "It was a small miracle that we found it at all. That necklace meant a lot to her. In those five years, I never saw her without it."

Clint gave a short, wordless nod. He didn't try to stop the tears from springing into his eyes as a memory surfaced in his mind's eye. A warm and tranquil summer evening with the sun dipping below the horizon, the whole family gathered on the back patio around a picnic table, and the mixture of earnest astonishment, profound affection, and inexpressible gratitude glittering in Natasha's green eyes when she'd first received the necklace and understood what it meant.

Her expression then had been such a sharp contrast from when he'd first come face-to-face with her all those years ago. None of the intel had prepared him for the despondence and resignation in her face when they'd stared each other down, emotions which she had attempted to mask with fiery defiance. He saw through it, even then. Her eyes had held a hollowness that spoke of exhaustion and hopelessness, and he knew those feelings all too well. Years before he was sent to kill Natasha, another SHIELD agent had recognized a similar struggle in Clint. Instead of killing him, Coulson had gone against orders and risked everything to pull him out. Looking into Natasha's eyes that night, he had remembered, made a choice, and lowered his bow.

"_I don't judge people on their worst mistakes."_

"_Maybe you should."_

"_You didn't."_

The necklace was now clutched so tightly in his fist that his fingernails dug into his palm. Clint let out a harsh breath and felt Bruce's large hand rest heavily on his shoulder.

A minute passed in silence before Bruce lifted his hand and the three of them repacked the box. Very carefully, he replaced the necklace in the envelope, folded it twice, and tucked it gingerly into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

When he turned to walk back into the cabin, Steve and Bruce were at his side and the necklace—the last great tangible reminder of his best friend—rested securely near his heart.

.

* * *

.

That's a wrap for part II. The final part should be out in a month-ish.

You all have been wonderful at vocalizing your support through your reviews, favorites and follows, and I thrive on your feedback (positive or negative). I'm so grateful to know that others have found some enjoyment in my writing. Thank you!

Until next time :)


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